Broken Glass
by Catching Fireflies
Summary: After the war is over, Haymitch Abernathy's battle has just begun. He's struggling with memories of the dead, and with knowing that Katniss and Peeta are happy while he is miserable. He is almost constantly drunk and hates everything. His life is like shattered glass: broken into fragments, some small as dust that blow away on the breeze. This is Haymitch's story after Mockingjay.
1. Shimmers on the Horizon

**Author's Note:**

**All I have to say is that I hope you like this! Haymitch is literally my favorite character in The Hunger Games trilogy, and I hope that other people feel the same way! Oh, yeah, and Suzanne Collins has all the rights to the dialogue and things that I borrowed from Catching Fire.**

_Shimmers on the Horizon_

I hear the sound of giggling laughter from next door. A sigh escapes me as I sit up in bed. The sun is setting. I can never sleep when it's dark out. Even in the light, I have endless nightmares. _You're here, Haymitch_, I remind myself. _No more Hunger Games. They're all dead. Get over it._

Only, I think I'll never get over it.

I sigh again and stand up shakily, feeling heavy and clumsy. The hangover won't go away, so I do what I've always done: drank some more. I down an entire bottle of liquor that rushes through me like wet fire. I feel like I could breathe smoke, so maybe they'll stay away. They. They are everyone who haunts me. They will never stop haunting me like this. But I look out the window to see Katniss and Peeta sitting on their porch, watching the sunset as their children run around on the lawn, shrieking and playing a game of what looks like two-person tag. The August fireflies start sparking in the air as the children laugh and play. Katniss is holding Peeta's hand, and they both look so affectionate that it sends spears through my heart.

I open the window, trying to be as quiet as possible. The children's giggles are even louder now that I can hear better. Katniss and Peeta look so content. And they have a reason. I'm the one who drowns myself in alcohol and memories and sleeps away the day and wakes up with a hangover. Exactly what I need. Alcohol. I open another bottle and take a swig as I watch the little girl, only eight years old, dance through the grass with her wavy dark hair in pigtails flying as she jumps up and down, squealing in happiness with every leap into the air. Her pants have grass stains on the knees from falling during their game of tag. The boy, six years old, resembles Peeta more, with a bit more fat than the girl and blond hair. He's running around, trying to catch the fireflies. "I got one, Mommy!" he crows, smiling the missing-toothed grin at his parents. "I got one! I got one!"

I slam the window shut, tears stinging my eyes. Every one of the boy's joyful cries tells me, _"I have you, Haymitch Abernathy. I'm never going to let you fix yourself. You're too broken."_ Well, everything I'm thinking is painfully right. I've lost everyone and everything. A painful dart of sadness hits me when I think of Maysilee. The young, beautiful girl with silky blond hair and shimmery blue eyes that used to make me forget about getting drunk at all. I would have been drinking during the preparation for the Games if not for Maysilee. Maysilee was my liquor. She made me happy when we were allies. But then she died. Died, while I held her hand. And I didn't lie and tell her that she'd be all right. I just told her that she'd stop hurting soon.

Maybe I should have lied. Then maybe that girl from District 1 could have been the victor instead of me. Because I know that I deserve to die for everything. Lying to Katniss and Peeta about the rebellion. Lying to Peeta about letting him go into the Quarter Quell arena. And I know that I was a burden for everyone in District 13. They hated me. They couldn't stand how ruined my body was. The doctors seemed to be afraid to touch me. They had a reason, though. Maybe they thought that whatever I had would spread to them. Only, misery isn't contagious.

Even though the sun is sinking, I flop over on my bed and pull the sheets up over my head, breathing in the stale air that stinks like my sweat and alcohol. I'm so... tired... I just want to fall asleep and wake up in a world where there has never been any Hunger Games and where Maysilee lives by my side and loves me forever and forever and we'll never die...

_I'm staring at Maysilee. Her eyes are so bright in the arena sun. She looks so beautiful, the sunlight glinting on her long blond hair. But her eyes are filled with tears as we stare down the deep cliff. There's sharp rocks far down. The drop looks dizzying. "That's all there is, Haymitch," she says, and I hear in her voice that she thinks that all our effort -getting attacked by the Careers and burning the hedge, all to get to the edge of the arena- is pointless. But it isn't! It can't be! It has to end somewhere. "Let's go back."_

_The response comes quickly. "No, I'm staying here," I say stubbornly, but it's breaking my heart to see the tears that well in her lovely blue eyes._

_"All right," she says, looking into my eyes. I feel like I can't move. "There's only five of us left. May as well say good-bye now, anyway," she says, staring at me like she's about to cry. "I don't want it to come down to you and me."  
_

_I want to say that I agree. That I don't want to kill her, my beautiful Maysilee Donner. I want to say a thousand things. But I only say one word. "Okay," I get out, and then she's walking away, and I'm frozen in place staring after her._

_I walk along the edge of the cliff, scowling down at the bottom. How is this the end? What if a tribute jumped to their death? What if there was another place? I kick a pebble down into the abyss, and I watch it become impossible to see. But to my surprise, the pebble shoots up seconds later as if it's bounced off something. I stare at the pebble, frowning. How can it just come back? How is that even possible? I pick up a rock from the ground and throw it off the cliff. It comes back right into my waiting hand. It's so perfect that I start laughing._

_Then I hear a scream, a horrible scream that keeps continuing over and over. Maysilee. My beautiful, perfect, amazing Maysilee is screaming. I know that we're not allies. I know that I don't want to have us be the final two. But I run into the trees anyway, because I know that I love her. I love Maysilee. I shoot off into the trees, running as fast as I can for her._

_But then I see the flock of birds, shockingly pink, flying off, and the last one's poking its thin, sharp beak _through Maysilee's neck_. Oh my God. I kneel down next to her. She's crying, a few holes straight through her throat. My hand slips into hers. "Maysilee," I say desperately. My voice sounds heartbroken. She's not going to make it. She's dying. She's about to die. "I'm sorry. It's too late, Maysilee."_

_Her voice is strangled and weak when she speaks, as if the air is leaking out of her throat. "It hurts, Haymitch," she says between sobs, squeezing my hand tighter, her big blue eyes spilling over with tears. "I'm not going to make it, Haymitch."_

_No. No, she's not. My beautiful girl, who I want to kiss over and over, is almost dead. "Shh," I whisper. "I know. I promise that it's going to stop hurting soon, Maysilee." And, because I know that I'm never going to have the chance again, I lean down and kiss her on the lips. She tastes like metallic blood, but her lips are soft under mine for a second. I run my hand through her hair, and we break apart. I swallow back the lump in my throat. "Nothing's ever going to hurt you again, Maysilee."_

_She looks up at me with those enchanting blue eyes. She coughs, and blood trickles out the side of her mouth. She blinks, and gasps for breath. "Haymitch," she says, almost like a sigh. And then she's gone, with her eyes shut for good and my name lingering on her lips. And her blood lingers on mine from when I kissed her._

_My poor, beautiful Maysilee is dead._

I wake up crying. Maysilee. My beautiful Maysilee. I loved her so much. And the only time I kissed her was when she was dying. The worst nightmares are about my time in the arena. And I'm not stupid. I know that Katniss and Peeta both have nightmares. But I sleep with a knife, and they sleep with each other. I know that when _Katniss_ wakes up from a nightmare sobbing, Peeta holds her and comforts her and tells her that it's going to fine. That it was just a bad dream. Telling her not to wake their little children. That he's there, and they've got each other for comfort. They always will. They're happy and safe and comforted by the thoughts that they have each other to love. They have their children. They have so many that look up to them, so many that stare at them and whisper their names when they go out into the town to the market.

But I have no one. I have nothing but my knife and my liquor to comfort me. I have no one to dry my tears and comfort me. No one cares. _No one cares no one cares no one cares..._ It repeats over and over. No one gives a damn about me. They just let me rot away in my house, with nothing but alcohol to console me and no one. I have no one. No one cares. I don't matter to anyone.

I start sobbing into my hands when I sit up, my whole body trembling. No one will come. No one cares. They'll let me cry until I can't cry any more. No one loves me. No one. And I've started to hate them for it. Even the stupid geese that I raised before the supply of liquor and other alcoholic drinks came by the train. I strangled every one of them and had Greasy Sae make them into stew for a pretty good price that got me more liquor. I cry so hard that I think I'll never be able to stop.

Then I hear the door creak open. "Haymitch?" a timid voice asks. "Haymitch?" It's Katniss and Peeta's little girl, who they named Prim. She's got Katniss's dark hair and olive skin, but matched strangely with Peeta's blue eyes. I groan. "Why are you crying, Haymitch?" She walks into my bedroom. I see her survey the wreck of shattered glass bottles on the floor. She carefully steps into the room. "Why are you crying? Are you okay, Haymitch?"

I stand up abruptly. Stupid little girl with too many questions. "God damn it!" I snarl, shoving her into the wall. She squeals in pain as she hits the wall, falling in the broken glass. I walk toward her, glaring down at the little girl. She's crying. I hate it when the little brats cry. "Shut up, you stupid little bitch!" I yell, slapping her across the face. I pick her up easily, and I slam her against the wall. It doesn't matter. I'm not the one hurting. "Don't ever come here again, _understand_?" I roar as I slam her against the wall over and over, harder every time. She's bawling, crying for her mommy. "And shut the fuck up!"

Unfortunately, just when I've stopped crying, Katniss comes into the room. "HAYMITCH ABERNATHY!" she yells. Damn, she's one loud bitch. "Get your hands off my daughter!" I shrug and somehow manage to throw the screaming, crying mess name Primrose Mellark into the wall. Katniss yelps like she's gotten an electric shock. "Why do you _do_ this, Haymitch?" she yells. "What the hell is _wrong_ with you?" She picks up little Prim and holds her like a small child. "Shh, Prim, sweetie," she says soothingly. Prim's sobbing into Katniss's shirt. Then she looks up at me as I stare. "Haymitch!" she yells at full force again. "I hate you, Haymitch! I - hate - you!"

And neither of them care as I slump to the floor and sob even harder than Prim.


	2. Broken and Hated

**Author's Note:**

**Hey! I hope people like this! I literally almost cried when I read over Chapter One (not to be vain or whatever). I would really appreciate reviews. I like to know what I could improve or your opinions on my fanfic. Plus, it makes me happy to know that people like my writing. I don't know about you, but I personally am a huge Haymitch fan. I feel so sorry for him in the books (and in my fanfic, you'll understand why if you don't already). Also, you might understand why I rated this story M after this chapter. Just a warning there. So if you're feeling young and innocent, you might want to stop as soon as you feel uncomfortable. But please try to read it! Enjoy!**

_Broken and Hated_

After a few minutes, I look up from crying, and then I become quiet. Blood. Blood on the walls. Prim's blood. The blood of the little girl with pigtails that was playing tag and chasing fireflies only hours ago. It must be around midnight. I stand up dizzily and touch a splotch of blood on the wall. My fingers come away wet and colored red. I wipe my hand on my pants. Prim. What did I do to Katniss's little girl? I've got close to no one, and now the few people that I remotely care about at all hate me like hell. Who wouldn't? I beat up Prim!

I sigh and open a new bottle of wine. I take a sip and spit it out. Not strong enough. Still, I down the whole thing. I'm not tired at all, after my nightmares. I could stay awake forever. I sit down on my bed and slide my hand under the pillow for my knife. It's getting dull and a bit rusty from the time I left it in the rain by accident. But I've heard that dull knives hurt more than sharp ones. Good. I pause with the knife over my wrist. What am I doing, anyway? Oh, yeah. Hurting myself. For every bit of hurt that I've given to Prim. But I don't quite feel sorry. Well, I feel sorry about Prim, but I still want to kick Katniss's ass. I slice downward with the knife and am rewarded with a spurt of red blood in the dim light and a flash of horrible pain.

"Aaahhh," I get out, my breath hissing out of my lungs as the pain comes. I wipe the knife on my shirt and fall backward onto my bed. My mattress feels so soft, and my blankets feel inviting. I lay my head down on my pillow and close my eyes, even though I'm not tired. What's wrong with me? I slide the knife under my pillow. The throbbing in my wrist gets worse as blood pours down my arm. Oh, what the hell, I'll just let it bleed. Who cares, anyway? It'd be a relief for Katniss and Peeta to wake up and find me dead in bed. They hate me. Their children hate me. Damn it, I bet their stupid cat Buttercup hates me. After all, he hisses whenever he sees me. Maybe that's because I threw up on him when I'd had a few drinks.

Speaking of which, I'm not feeling that great. The air starts to turn sparkly, with blue fireflies the color of Maysilee's eyes darting around the room. I reach up weakly with my uninjured arm to catch one, but they all turn to mist when I close my fingers around them. But I want them to stay. I try to sit up, but I fall back down into a silver cloud that smells like President Snow's precious roses. _Roses!_ Oh, God, not them! I roll out of bed, hitting the black glittery floor with an ear-shattering thud. But I can still smell those damn roses! And I can never catch the fireflies! "Just let me get the fireflies and burn the roses!" I yell, standing up. Then I'm spinning to the floor, which smells like Peeta's bread when he burns it.

Then I see a flask of blue, glowing potion levitating in the air, and I drink the whole thing. Strange, tastes just like my favorite kind of liquor. Oh, well. I throw the flask out my window, which magically opens by itself with the sound of shattering glass. I'm still lying on the floor as the fireflies circle around my head. "Fireflies," I say happily, catching one. It actually stays! I feel myself grinning. "Pretty," I mutter, looking at the fireflies. Then they all land on me. Oh, damn it, I'm covered in fireflies now. "Off... off of me..." I groan, slapping at my leg, where there are many fireflies.

Then they all turn to something that I recognize all too well. The buzzing sound fills my ears. The shiny gold bodies of the insects swarm over my body. Horrible stinging begins everywhere, on every centimeter of me. I feel myself swelling up. Pain courses through my body, and I start screaming. "TRACKER JACKERS!" I bellow as loud as I can. They're all over me! And they won't come off of me, no matter what I do! "AAAAARRRGGHH!" I howl as they sting over and over and over and over and over...

Then they all disappear. I sit up, looking around for whoever saved me from the tracker jackers. Then I see her standing in the threshold, and my heart starts beating fast. Maysilee. Her hair is brushed perfectly and loose over her shoulders. She's wearing her reaping outfit of a white dress with that beautiful gold mockingjay pin. Her eyes gleam happily. "Maysilee?" I ask disbelievingly. "Maysilee! You saved me from the tracker jackers!" I stand and embrace her, holding her close to me. She smells so good. I kiss her hard, right on the lips. "You saved me again!" I say happily, grinning, as I break away from her.

She nods. "Come on, Haymitch," she says, kissing me. Oh my God. Maysilee Donner's kissing me. Then she breaks away from my lips. "Hey, Haymitch..." She lies down on my bed and beckons to me. "Haymitch, let's have sex."

"Yes!" I reply, getting in the bed with her and stripping off my clothes until I'm lying there naked. She starts to take off her dress, but I shake my head. "No, I'll do it." Her skin is smooth under my fingers. I stroke her body as I strip her. Then everything gets so perfect that I can't even describe it. She's so close to me. So impossibly, blissfully close. I love her so much. Emotionally, literally, and now, physically.

When it's all over, I grin at her and kiss her on the lips for a while. Then I move away. "I LOVE YOU, MAYSILEE!" I shout. She smiles and puts a finger to her lips. "All right," I say, trying to be quiet, but I'm too excited. "That was fun!" I exclaim happily. Her eyes look just like the fireflies when she smiles. "Let's do it again, Maysilee! Please?"

"Sure," says Maysilee with a giggle. I start singing a happy song that I'm making up on the spot. It's just repeating the words, "I'm fucking Maysilee, I'm fucking Maysilee". But I think it's beautiful.

"I'm fucking Maysilee, I'm fucking Maysilee, I'm fucking Maysilee!" I chant, kissing her. She kisses me back. Her lips taste so sweet. Like raspberries.

But she's fading. I feel that she's fading, turning to invisible mist just like the fireflies. But I can't catch her. Maybe she'll turn into a thousand tracker jackers. "Maysilee!" I cry out, holding her close to me. "Maysilee! Come back!" My voice becomes a sob. Then Maysilee's gone. Where is she? Where's my beautiful girl? Who took Maysilee? "Nooo!" I howl, falling out of bed. Everything smells like smoke. The sharp scent makes its way into my nose. Katniss! She's Cinna's girl on fire, isn't she? So wouldn't she smell like smoke? _Katniss_ took Maysilee! How could Katniss take Maysilee? Or maybe Peeta was jealous and wanted Maysilee for himself. Damn Peeta!

Then all the sparkles and shimmer and things that seem unreal disappear, leaving me with the world. A room of broken glass. My window is shattered completely. There's vomit all over my floor. I'm lying naked in my bed with a pillow between my legs. What the hell is going on?

Memories come back to me: beating up Prim, yelling at her, Katniss leaving, getting drunk, and... what just happened?

Then I see Katniss, standing next to me. She's scowling at me, glaring venomously with hatred in her eyes. I know that she's furious at me, and so is Peeta. But I look up at her, clutching the pillow tighter. "Katniss?" I croak. I look down at the pillow and literally pull myself out of it in a disgusting way. The pillowcase is lying on the floor, shredded to bits. My wrist is gushing blood. "Katniss. What's going on, sweetheart?"

She looks me in the eyes, her frown deepening. She takes the pillow out of my hands and throws it onto the floor hurriedly, wiping her hands on her pants. Then she looks me in the eyes. Her eyes are gray, a trademark of the Seam, and she looks so painfully familiar that it feels like someone has stabbed me in the heart. She looks as if she is literally shaking with suppressed fury. Then she sighs and says three words that barely register to me.

"Sober up, Haymitch."

Then everything goes black.

**Author's Note (again):**

**You see what I mean about rated M? Just saying. I hope you liked this chapter! In case you didn't understand, Haymitch is very drunk and hallucinating. Also, "Maysilee" was his pillow.**

**On that pleasant note, I'll update chapter three soon, probably tomorrow!**

**~Catching Fireflies**


	3. Gray Seam Eyes

**Author's Note:**

**So, here's chapter 3! This is going to be less crazy than the last one. In case you didn't get it, Haymitch had had too much to drink and started hallucinating. Sorry for the repetition, I just want to be sure that everyone gets it. So, you can bet that Katniss is really angry with him, right? Right! Anyway, I hope you like this chapter! Please review, I would love to know what you think of my fanfic! I love Haymitch so much. He's my favorite character. Here's chapter three!**

_Gray Seam Eyes_

I wake up to the worst headache of my life -a record-breaking hangover- and Katniss glaring at me. She looks like she hasn't been sleeping, with dark circles under her eyes. I sit up, but a wave of sickness washes over me. "What're y'doing here, sweetheart?" I get out. Then I see the broken glass. It's everywhere. My window is shattered completely. I vaguely remembering throwing something through it when I was too drunk to think straight. I've got my clothes back on. Everything I imagined is gone. I reach for my pillow, which Katniss has thrown across the room. "Sweetheart..." Then I start vomiting in my own bed, a foul taste in my mouth. I'm used to this, very much used to this, but I still feel awful. Maysilee. I saw Maysilee, I swear I did. But I guess that I just thought her up. When I'm done, I sit up. "What the hell... why are _you_ here, Everdeen?" I feel awful as soon as I've said that. I always have called Katniss "sweetheart", but never by her last name.

She stares at me exasperatedly, her gray Seam eyes angry. "Let's see," she starts, and I know that this can't turn out well by any means. "Well, Peeta and I were... up late." I smirk, knowing exactly what she means about staying up late. "And Peeta heard you yelling something about fireflies and roses. Then I heard your window break. We thought that you'd calm down, but you didn't. Then you woke up the children. You were screaming at the top of your lungs about tracker jackers. Then you yelled, "I LOVE YOU, MAYSILEE!" or something, and we started to get worried." She gives me a long stare. "You're teaching my kids plenty of rude words, Haymitch. We all heard you singing, "I'm fucking Maysilee, I'm fucking Maysilee". Over and over, Haymitch!"

"So?" I mutter, but I can feel heat rising to my face. It's embarrassing, what I did. But I've stopped really caring. Katniss is still furious at me. "How's your little Primrose doin'?" I ask.

"Actually, she's got several broken bones and a concussion," Katniss answers coldly. "You're pathetic. What kind of coward beats on little girls?" I squeeze my eyes shut. I am not going to cry. No. I am not going to cry. I am not I am not I am not... But I feel the tears welling in my eyes anyway. Katniss goes on, completely merciless. "So, Haymitch, I came in to find you stark naked and fucking a shredded-up pillow. Twice." She laughs shortly. "Haymitch, what is _wrong_ with you?"

"Nothing!" I growl, staggering out of bed. Then I see my wrist. It's slit open and crusted with dried blood but also soaked in wet blood. There's a huge stain of blood on my bed. I assume Katniss didn't notice earlier, since my wrist was under my body. "Ow," I mutter. "Hurts."

I hear a strangled squeaking noise and turn. Katniss's face is ashen. "Oh my God," she squeaks out. "Haymitch!" She practically materializes over across the room to me; she's there so fast that my aching brain can't process it. She grasps my arm, assessing the wound. The old Katniss that I used to know would never do this. I realize that, aside from my drunkenness, she has never truly seen me hurt. She looks pale, but furious. "Haymitch!" she half-gasps, half-yells, and I realize that she's crying. "Did you do that, Haymitch? Oh, Haymitch..." She looks shocked. Tears are streaming down her face.

I hear the door swing open with a screech of hinges, and Peeta walks into the room. Concerned as ever for his Katniss. I think I might be crying, too, biting my lower lip hard and staring down at my bleeding wrist. Peeta puts his arms around Katniss. "What's wrong, Katniss, honey?" he asks softly. Then he sees my wrist. Dripping scarlet blood onto the floor as I stare uncomprehendingly at the deep cut. "Shh, Katniss, shh. It's okay." Peeta looks up at me. Judging from the way his bright blue eyes flit to the pillow on the floor, he knows exactly what happened last night. It's mid-morning now. He's about to open his mouth when I hear a noise.

"Daddy?" asks a shy, high-pitched voice. "Mommy? What's wrong, Mommy?" Damn it. It's Katniss and Peeta's brat. Gale. I'm sure that the original Gale would be flattered, but he's off in District Two ignoring Katniss. I see Prim, the other brat, with a sling on her arm and a pair of crutches. I would smile at that sight, but everything's too emotional right now.

"Everything's fine, Gale," says Peeta, trying to sound calm. "You can go home and be with Grandma, okay?" Oh, wonderful. Adding Katniss's mother into the equation changes it to equal disaster.

"Grandma came here!" cheers Prim, grinning at the woman who walks in. Her hair's streaked with gray, like mine. I suddenly wonder how old she is. Oh, well, what the hell does it matter? Then Prim frowns. "Grandma, guess what?" Prim says, smiling a gap-toothed grin. "This is Haymitch! He's the meanie who hit me, Grandma! He smells bad." I frown. What I smell like shouldn't matter to this innocent, chatterbox little girl.

"Hey, you smell bad, too, kid," I say, shrugging, but I can't tear my eyes away from my bleeding wrist.

"Haymitch," says Mrs. Everdeen, shooting me an evil glare. I notice that she doesn't have Katniss's gray Seam eyes. Gale got Katniss's eyes. I have gray Seam eyes, too. The connection burns in me, painful fire. Maysilee's eyes were blue like my hallucination-fireflies. So are Mrs. Everdeen's eyes. "Prim, Gale, why don't you go outside and play?" Mrs. Everdeen suggests to her grandchildren. They nod obediently and go out to play in the yard.

Mrs. Everdeen looks at me, and I feel a funny feeling spread out in me. Hot and sticky, a mixture of honey and blood. Her eyes aren't gray, not the mirror of Katniss's, or Gale's, or her grandson Gale's, or mine. And so many others, but a lot of them died in the firebombing. "Haymitch," she says softly. "Let me see." My arm snaps down, and I try to hide my wrist behind my back, but the steady drip of blood is all too obvious. "Haymitch, please." Her fingers brush my arm, and warmth runs through me like liquor. She sits on the end of the bed. "Here, sit down," she says. I sit next to her, as obedient as her grandchildren and ten times as helpless. "Let me see."

She examines the deep cut for a few seconds. "Was the knife sharp, or dull?" she asks. In answer, I reach under my pillow and produce the knife. She scowls as she examines the rusted, dull blade. "Oh, Haymitch, couldn't you have cut yourself with a clean, sharp blade?" she sighs. Katniss has calmed down and is sitting on Peeta's lap in my rickety chair, both of them watching us silently. "This is a bad cut, Haymitch, I'll say that right now," she admits. "I'm going to have to clean it out and bandage it. No more cutting. And..." She surveys the room, then the condition of my body. "No more drinking, Haymitch. At all."

I stand up all of a sudden. "NOOO!" I wail. "No! I'm gonna die if y'don't let me drink!" Katniss lets out a cruel laugh, but Peeta silences her. Always the peacemaker. "Not that it'd matter!" I yell. "None of you give a damn about me! Or my life! So who the hell would care?" Katniss is stooping low enough to go into full-out laughter. "SHUT UP!" I roar at the top of my lungs. She falls silently, glaring disdainfully. "None of you care! Sweetheart, Lover Boy, you've got each other! I have _no one_! And no one cares! So why don't I just die already? NONE OF YOU CARE!"

The air is silent for a few moments as my outburst sinks in. Then I feel weak and shaky, and I flop over on the bed, face down, and start sobbing into my other pillow that isn't covered in my own slobber, and other things that I don't exactly want to think about. I feel my body trembling all over. The bed shifts as Mrs. Everdeen gets up. I keep sobbing. No one cares! No one wants me alive! If anyone as much as noticed my death, it would be a relief to them! They all hate me! My pillow is soaked in tears and blood. No one is speaking. The room is silent except for my sobs. All silent. I can't stop crying. They all hate me. They don't care about my life at all. I don't matter to any of them.

"Haymitch," whispers a voice. June Everdeen. Katniss's mother. Her hand brushes my arm. "Look at me, Haymitch." I roll over to look up at her. My eyes feel swollen from crying. A tear drips down my face. I gasp for breath, trying to stop my sobs. Mrs. Everdeen dabs at my face with a handkerchief. The fabric feels so soft that I want to touch it, almost. I look up, as helpless and weak as a crying little child. "We do care about you, Haymitch. That's why we're here."

"No, you don't," I mutter. "You just care about yourselves. Each other. Look, sweetheart, you've got a family. I've got no one. None of you understand. I'm alone. You don't get it. You're never going to, so don't pretend."

June Everdeen looks me in the eyes. The fierce blue in hers must have toned down in Prim's, because I remember Katniss's sister as so innocent. Not this firm at all. "Katniss believes that you need medical treatment," she says. I swear loudly. "Considering your hallucinating and the cutting. What exactly did you think was happening?"

I think back. I can't remember that wonderfully. Strange, how I've been drinking for so many years and never gotten fully used to it. But then it's coming back to me. "Fireflies," I say. "There were blue fireflies. Like Maysilee's eyes." A sob wrenches out of me, and June offers her handkerchief. I take it, wiping my eyes and blowing my nose. "And my bed smelled like President Snow's roses." Katniss flinches, and I think maybe Peeta does too. "Peeta... my floor... it smelled like your bread. When you burn it. And all the fireflies landed on me and turned into tracker jackers and stung me all over." I blink away the tears. "Then they disappeared, and Maysilee was there." Then I'm really crying again, choking for breath. "We had sex twice!" I bawl, turning over and again burying my face in my pillow. "But she's dead! She's dead!" Once again, all I hear is my sobbing.

Mrs. Everdeen sighs. "I'm sorry, Haymitch, but you've either got to stop drinking, or..." She somehow turns over my body. I see her eyes again as I cry. "You know, the only reason I don't live here in Twelve is that I run a hospital in District Four. If you don't stop drinking and get a grip, Haymitch, and very soon, I'm going to have to take you there."

"No!" I yell, my tears seeming to disappear. "I'm not going to some hellhole in Four! And I'm not going to stop drinking! I CAN'T!"

"Abernathy, shut up," Katniss says rudely. "Or the children are going to wonder what's going on again. And considering that they saw you ripping up and having sex with your pillow, they can't use any more trouble from you."

"Like I was saying, Haymitch..." says Mrs. Everdeen, gently easing her rose-embroidered handkerchief out of my clenched fist. "How you think, your actions... they all qualify as a mixture of suicidal tendencies and insanity. I'm going to ask you once, Haymitch. _Do you think you can stop drinking?_" Her voice is as hard as steel. And there I was thinking that her and Katniss have nothing alike. At least June isn't broken like Katniss. No matter how they try to hide it, you can see that they have lost so much. June, a daughter and a husband. Katniss, a father and a sister. And both of them have lost friends. We all have. But why the hell should I care?

"I can't," I blurt. "Just don't take me anywhere. I'm stayin' right here." I close my eyes. "So leave me alone." Then I open my eyes. "Mellark!" Peeta scowls. "Get me a drink, will you?" Peeta doesn't move. "Katniss? June?" They refuse. I reach for my knife, but it's gone. That really makes me furious. I've slept with that knife for so long that you can practically call it the only lover I'll ever have. "What the hell did you do with my knife?"

"Melted it down," says Peeta. I'm about to start screaming at him when I remember something. Right after the Quarter Quell announcement when I drank with Katniss, Peeta -damn Peeta- poured all my liquor down the drain. What if...? I look around, trying to see. There are none of my usual half-empty bottles around the room. Peeta sees the expression of disbelief on my face. "Oh, yes. I dumped all your alcohol again, Haymitch. I just did you a favor." I've never really heard Peeta sound sarcastic, but maybe I'm rubbing off on him.

"NOOO!" I howl at the top of my lungs, sitting up and somehow standing. I feel my bare feet getting cut on the shattered glass bottles that litter my floor, but I don't care. I stagger into the kitchen. Nothing at all. Oh, damn it! I already feel the tortures of sobriety coming back. Like in District Thirteen. I hated it in Thirteen. Nothing to drink at all. That was complete hell. I think part of me died back there.

"I hate you," I mutter, coming back into my room. "I really hate you. And you hate me. You don't care, so why are you bothering with this anyway?"

"Actually," says June, and I feel a sharp stab in my upper arm as the morphling runs into my blood, "we're doing this because we care about you, Haymitch. And because I don't want my grandchildren to be murdered by a drunk like you. So, Haymitch, yes, we do care about you. But not in the way you want, I'm guessing."

The morphling's dulling the pain, but it must be mixed with a sedative, because I crash down on my bed so hard that I hear wood splintering. "You got that one right, sweetheart," I mutter sleepily. Then it all goes black and I have one thought: _They're taking me to District Four. Only, it'll be like Thirteen._

_It'll be hell. With no Maysilee and no liquor. And no way out._


	4. Sea Breeze

**Author's Note:**

**Hey! I forgot to thank for the review I got, so you know who you are, thanks! I really appreciate the support! Anyway, Haymitch is going to Four! Aren't you excited? Okay, me too. Whatever. Just to be the complete spoiler that I am at heart, I'm going to say that this story ends pretty well, despite the bad things that happen. All right, I'm done with my spoiling. Anyone who didn't want to know, you may start reading again! :) And in case you didn't get it (sorry if my story's hard to follow), I named Katniss's mother June. Enjoy chapter 4!**

_Sea Breeze_

I wake up to blinding white. My hangover has subsided. Then my eyes adjust, and I see that I'm in a place full of white. White electricity. White-painted walls and ceiling. White sheets. White tile on the floor. White uniforms of the doctors and nurses that fill my small room. Oh, damn it! They took me to the hospital in Four! I sit up in bed, wanting so badly to believe that this is all one of my awful nightmares. I must be dreaming about District Thirteen, when they forced me into sobriety. Except District Thirteen's main color was gray for almost everything, and... I squint into the light of an open window, not daring to believe it. Sunshine. Sunshine, with sea breeze flowing in through the window, invading my nose. I flinch when I smell it. It reminds me far too much of the Victory Tour, which reminds me of the Career pack that I faced, which reminds me of the arena, which reminds me of Maysilee. No. Not Maysilee. I flop down on the bed again, making something creak. I'm too fragile for my liking as it is when Maysilee is involved. I can't cry. I am not going to... But...

I don't move, just lie there, trying not to cry while doctors and nurses examine me like I'm some sort of specimen They must have put me on drugs. That explains the pounding in my head. Then I recognize someone's face. Graying blond hair and bright blue eyes that remind me of Maysilee. "June," I say hazily, reaching one hand up to touch her face. I feel a smile curve my mouth as the tips of my fingers brush her cheek. She smiles, too, and I feel a hot rush come over me. She has Maysilee's eyes. It seemed like most of the merchant's children had these striking blue eyes. But Maysilee's were special to me. They were more than the trademark of a rich citizen of 12. They were the eyes that I looked forward to seeing every day in the arena. The eyes that I never wanted to see stare down from a picture in the sky when the anthem played at night and the deaths were listed. The eyes that stared into mine, tear-filled, as she died.

"Relax, Haymitch," she says soothingly. I realize that my muscles are clenched like I'm ready to punch someone. I try to relax, but I want to kill the Capitol. Or... wait. They are gone. So is President Snow, and President Coin, whose damn laws back in Thirteen ordered my sobriety. "We're in District Four now."

"How..." My voice sounds thick. "How long am I going to be here? This is hell. No offense." She manages to smile. "Look, I hate this! I want to go home, June." I don't know that I've ever called her by her first name, but I don't care. And she knows that she reminds me of Maysilee. Because Maysilee was a healer, too. Only, she healed me whenever my heart hurt. And when she died, my heart broke. "I... I want to be back in Twelve. And I need a drink."

She sighs. "Haymitch, I'm sorry, but you've got to stop drinking." I think my heart's stopping at her words. "It's killing you, Haymitch. It has been for years." She uses a damp cloth to wipe the sweat from my forehead. The cool of the water feels so good on my skin. I feel a bit feverish, actually. "You're sick. All this drinking's really gotten to you. You've got a high fever. And of course... all that you've done, including hallucinating, beating up Prim, and getting twenty-three years of tributes killed... you're classified as mentally unstable."

I swear under my breath, but my voice is shaky. I think if I don't try hard enough, I might just start crying from it all. No. I'm not crazy. "There's nothing wrong with me," I say, but as soon as I've taken a breath, breathing turns into gasping sobs that I can't stop. Tears stream down my face, barely soothing my feverishly hot skin. The white room blurs into nothing, and then I don't bother trying to see. They think I've lost it. They don't care. I'm just another insane victor to them. Just like damn Annie Cresta. Or the stupid morphling addicts from District Six. But I'm not! None of them know anything. And they just leave me alone to rot away in the pit of full of broken glass and pieces of my broken soul. And now they're pretending to care and trying to fix me, but can't they see that there are some things that are too broken to fix?

"Haymitch," says June, wiping the tears from my face. "It's going to be fine, Haymitch. Don't cry." Her voice is barely a whisper. She turns to the other doctors. "Out. I need to talk to Haymitch alone." Then she faces me again. "Don't cry, Haymitch. Please don't cry. I can't stand seeing you like this."

I keep crying, despite the fact that I feel a vibration in my heart. Something that has been sated. My sadness. Someone cares. June cares about me, even though her family doesn't give a damn. "I..." I choke out, crying so hard that I feel like I'm going to suffocate. "I... I want to go home, June!" I sob.

"Shh," she says. Unsurprisingly, she pulls a handkerchief from the pocket of her uniform and wipes the tears from my face. Her fingers brush my skin, and I feel an odd rush come over me. Why? Oh, God, is it because she reminds me of Maysilee? Is it possible that I actually am capable of feeling lust, much less for Katniss's mother? I stop crying, but it takes a few minutes of heavy breathing for me to catch my breath. "Tell me what's wrong, Haymitch."

I'm about to say 'everything', but I stop myself before the words come. "They don't care," I say, staring helplessly up at June, who has pulled up a chair and is seated next to my bed. "None of them. Katniss. Peeta. They just want to let me die. They care about themselves and each other. They think they can just leave me to rot away in my house and drink myself to death. And... Maysilee." June's eyes hit me like daggers. They are Maysilee's eyes, the eyes of merchant's children, the eyes of those lucky enough to not be born in the Seam. "I miss her. I have nightmares about her every day. I can't sleep when it's dark, or they're even worse." I take a deep breath. "I sleep with a knife. But I just... I just lost it and... I felt like hurting myself." I sigh. "Look at me. I'm nothing but a wreck. No wonder everyone's given up on me for good."

June laughs. It almost sounds like a mockingjay for a second to me. But that may just be the drugs that they have undoubtedly pumped into my body while I was out. "The Haymitch that I knew for years never wallowed in self-pity that much," she says. She pushes a clump of greasy hair out of my eyes, and I see her gaze soften. After all, she's seen these gray eyes in Katniss for so long. Blue and gray. But Katniss has lighter gray eyes than I do. Hers are almost silver.

"And what do you mean by that?" I ask. A trace of my old sarcasm makes its way back into my voice, and she smiles sadly.

"That's more like it," she says. "Before the Games, you were just arrogant, sarcastic. After that, you were still sarcastic, but you were a drunk and... so many other things. Now, you've lost all of that. You're just drunk and miserable." Her eyes pierce mine. "You want to feel pain."

I take a deep breath. "Of course I feel pain!" I shout. I sit up again, staring at her. "I feel pain! What else do you call this? Why do you think I drink? Why do you think I cut myself? Why do you think I have nightmares? BECAUSE IT HURTS!" I yell so loud that I hear the hallway, which was once filled with noise, go almost silent. "It's because of pain that I'm this way, June," I say quietly. "Because everyone only cares about how Katniss and Peeta feel. But they don't give a fuck about _me_."

She smiles wistfully. "I still remember when you were drawn in the reaping," she says. I freeze. Maysilee. June's best friend, Maysilee, was chosen. And that was when my heart broke forever, after she was dead and I was out of the Games. "I used to think you were... attractive. Really, Haymitch. And I thought that you'd have to come home, because I just thought you were handsome. That's all. And now, I care about you, Haymitch. More than just one of the rich girls falling for a boy from the Seam. I care about you. Don't say that no one cares while I'm here. Believe me, I know exactly what it's like to have a broken heart. Katniss knows what I mean. I understand why you feel like this, all right, Haymitch?" She grins. "I almost like you better this way. No sarcasm or insults."

For the first time in a while, I smile, and I'm actually happy. "Oh, believe me, sweetheart, if that's what you miss, I understand why you made me come to this stupid hell. You just want me to get fixed up in the head so I can sleep with you, hmm? I thought that your family had enough romances."

She chuckles and lays a wet washcloth on my forehead. "Oh, Haymitch," she says with a sigh. "I said that I didn't miss it. But I've learned to tolerate it."

"Really?" I ask, closing my eyes as a drop of water from the cloth trickles down my nose. "Well, can you learn to love it? It ain't hard, sweetheart. Considering that I'm even more beautiful than Finnick Odair was." A shadow crosses her face. I know why. We all miss Finnick. Even I miss how he used to be practically glued to Annie Cresta after they got married. But June smiles. "You know, sweetheart, I could really use a drink right now," I say. "I feel different when I'm sober. Like I'm actually alive. I think I'd rather be dead."

She shakes her head. "No drinking, Haymitch," she says. "You know that you'll get used to this someday. And you'll be happier." She grins, and her eyes light up like my blue fireflies that I imagined. "You need to sleep naturally. Just close your eyes."

"I'll have nightmares, sweetheart," I mutter as I settle myself onto the pillow. June tucks me in under the sheets like I am a very small child. She probably hasn't done this since her dead daughter Prim was little.

"I won't let you have nightmares," she says. Then, almost spontaneously, she leans forward and kisses me on the lips. Just for a short second, not truly romantic, but it's still a kiss.

And I fall asleep with no nightmares at all.

* * *

The days start passing in a haze of drugs and questions from doctors that have no idea how I feel. The days start turning into weeks, then months. Throughout the time, I'm miserable. Locked into sobriety that kills me. The doctors that are supposed to fix my mind come by every day when the faithfully ticking clock on my wall reads two in the afternoon. They always ask me about my drinking, my relationships with Katniss and Peeta and June and Maysilee. Asking about my hallucination when I fucked a pillow and when I almost killed Katniss's little girl Prim. Asking to describe every nightmare that I have. Calming me down when I have one of my withdrawals and start screaming at things that I see, awful things that I laugh about later.

And worst of all is the treatment, the drugs that they use to keep me 'calm'. But I never feel calm. I feel like I'm withering away. I even look like I'm shriveling up. I look almost like those hideous morphling addicts from Six that died in the Quarter Quell. That is, the third Quarter Quell. Not the second. I have two too many Quarter Quells in my memory. Every day, when the doctors make me exercise, I look in the glass of windows and the rare mirrors. I look half-dead from everything I've been through. But under the yellowish-tinted skin that looks almost like wax, inside the gradually thinning body, and beneath the sunken gray eyes that stare back at me in every mirror, there is the wreck called Haymitch Abernathy. And I'm not going to let them torture me.

I've tried to drink straight rubbing alcohol that I stole from the medical equipment rooms, but they catch me every time. "Not that, Haymitch," the overly patient doctors and nurses insist as they take it away. "You're going to be sober from now on." But I hate it more than anything, and several times I resorted to pleading fruitlessly to medics for a good drink of liquor. One memorable day, fairly early on, I stripped a nurse and threatened to rape her if she didn't let me drink. _That_ little stunt got me a new room far away from the rest of the rooms, with a door that has at least three kinds of locks.

Katniss and Peeta never visit. All right, I know that Katniss is pissed at me because of what I did to Prim. I'd be furious if I were her. But she doesn't understand the heartbroken part of me that has always hidden behind the sarcasm and liquor bottles. The part of me that I tried to never let show. But it broke free, and I am a wreck now. Worse than before, although I hate to admit that I can gradually feel my body getting stronger and my mind getting clearer and clearer. Katniss will never understand what I've been through. She's the type that thinks of herself first, and then the people that she truly cares about. And I'm definitely not making that list. So it shouldn't matter.

June is the only bright spot in the darkness that is my life. She visits every day. She keeps the other annoying doctors and nurses away on the days when I have the worst withdrawals. She can calm me down every time. "It's okay," she always says, while I'm screaming and pounding on the door, trying to get away from whatever's there trying to kill me. "Nothing's there. Nothing's going to hurt you, Haymitch." And maybe it's a bit more than just comfort, because the memory of her kissing my fever-hot lips on that first day is fresh in my mind. When the sadness hits me the worst, and when the lack of alcohol starts to hurt, she is always there to comfort me. There are a few times when I would be arguing with her, but I always feel too grateful.

So I slowly work the alcohol out of body and become stronger and wait until the day when I can be back in the Victor's Village in my house and drink again.

* * *

(Third Person- Peeta's POV up until the end of this chapter only!)

Peeta signs in at the desk and asks to visit Haymitch Abernathy. Katniss is staying behind -to 'watch the children', she insists. He knows that she's still angry at Haymitch, and he know that he is not exactly comfortable with Haymitch's state of sanity. But since when has he been one to hold grudges? And as soon as he heard that no one has ever visited Haymitch in the two months that he has been in the hospital, he knew that he would have to go. Besides, he has good news for Mrs. Everdeen about Katniss that he knows will help the days drag past for both of them. He knocks on the door to Haymitch's room. Mrs. Everdeen's voice replies quietly, "Come in!"

Peeta opens the door to see Haymitch fast asleep in bed with Mrs. Everdeen sitting beside his bed. "Hello," he says, smiling.

"Peeta!" she says, smiling and standing up for a moment to hug him. She smells like sterile cloth from her uniform, but there's a hint of flowery perfume. "Oh, it's so good to see you here," she says, smiling warmly. "Come to visit me and Haymitch? I know, Katniss stayed behind, right?" Peeta nods, sighing. "Yes, I know that she's still unhappy with Haymitch. How are Prim and Gale doing? Is Prim getting better?"

"Yeah," he says, nodding and pulling up a chair next to Haymitch's bed. Haymitch looks so different, almost like back in Thirteen, his skin tinted yellow and his whole body thinner. "They're doing great. Oh, and I have some very good news for you." Mrs. Everdeen smiles, her eyes expecting Peeta to go on. Blue like his own, the eyes of a merchant's child. "You're going to be a grandmother again," Peeta says, unable to contain the grin that spreads over his face. "And before you ask, Katniss is three months along. We're not sure of the gender yet, but Katniss wants a girl."

Mrs. Everdeen hugs Peeta again. "That's wonderful, Peeta!" He can tell that she's glad. "I'm so happy for you, Peeta!" The two of them talk for a while, not waking Haymitch. They are glad to see each other, and Peeta is secretly happy to know that Mrs. Everdeen is doing fine after two months of taking care of Haymitch. The topic of discussion never strays to the other person in the room until a while has passed.

"So," says Peeta, studying his mother-in-law's eyes. "Is Haymitch doing all right?"

"Oh, yes," she says. There's an odd note in her voice. "He's gotten much better." Then she sighs. "Peeta, please don't tell Katniss, but... I care about Haymitch, okay? More than just caring." She blushes, and Peeta realizes what she means, although her and Haymitch are both much older than he was when he started to fall for Katniss. So that's what Peeta sees in her eyes, hears in her voice. The slightest hints of love. And as Mrs. Everdeen describes her feelings for Haymitch, and how he's acting towards her, a spark of some new kind of hope ignite in his mind.

Peeta looks down at Haymitch's face. He looks more sober than ever, his cheeks more hollow and his eyes lacking the dark circles beneath. Then Peeta realizes what is so different. The sun has set, and Haymitch is actually sleeping at night. Normally. With no knife under his pillow. And no nightmares.

"I think Haymitch might love you, too," Peeta says. And, as he sees how Mrs. Everdeen has been holding Haymitch's hand, and when he notices the peace of Haymitch's face, he realizes that he means it. And that maybe, everything that is broken isn't broken, it's just waiting to be fixed.


	5. Inside of the Fire

**Author's note:**

**Hey! I'm really glad for all the views that I've gotten (interesting, I seem to people reading my fanfics in a variety of European countries...). But anyway, I would really love some reviews to see how I'm doing. Warning to any people who are feeling even more innocent than Primrose Everdeen, this chapter contains some very mature content. Don't worry, it's quite vague. Very much. So, like I said in the author's note in Chapter Two, just stop reading if you feel really creeped out. (A good spot to stop would be when Haymitch gets hit over the head with a brick, *spoiler alert*.) But please try. Enough of Catching Fireflies rambling about how she doesn't want to scar people for life and give them disturbing mental images of Haymitch. On to the chapter! I warned you in advance!**

_Inside of the Fire_

There is a morning when I wake up and feel horrible. Filled with anger. Furious at the world. Oh, damn it, I really need a drink. I sit up sleepily, rubbing my eyes. June's sitting beside my bed. "I need a drink," I mumble weakly. "Please, June. Or I'll..." I don't know what I'll do, but I'll do something. "Please." A small flicker of humor is in June's eyes. So what if I'm absolutely pleading with her. "I'll never attack damn little Prim again! Or Gale! Just give me something to drink! Something alcoholic!" I add.

She lays a calming hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry, but no," she says. "And if you're lucky, the doctors say that you can go back to District Twelve today."

I stand up, having slept in my clothes. They're from when I was in Twelve, and they fit loosely on me. "But no one'll let me drink there either!" I moan. "Please, June? I'll never threaten to rape anyone, I promise!" My eyes get wide. "Please?" She shakes her head. All right, that's it. I'm done begging. Right now, she seems immune to my eyes. She's been saying that they remind her of her deceased husband's. Of course, that makes me blush, then think of Maysilee. How June's eyes look like hers. It's painful. And I'm sick of begging her. "Do it or I'll kill you!" I yell, my voice shaking. For a second, I'm afraid that I might start crying right here and now. "I swear I'll kill you!" I'm bellowing by now. "And your bitchy daughters! Wait, one already got killed."

June looks like a combination of terrified and furious. "Haymitch!" she says desperately. "Calm down, Haymitch. Please calm down." One of her hands reaches out to touch my face, but I step backward and punch her in the nose, hard. Blood is running down her face as she becomes the one pleading. "Haymitch, stop it," she says, her voice a bit nasally. "Haymitch. Stop."

"I'd rather have the Capitol be in power than have this!" I yell, pushing her against the wall and hitting her with my free hand. She can't even fight back. There's blood trickling down her face. "I hate you! Go to hell! Damn you!"

"Haymitch," she hisses. "Do yourself a favor and shut up. I'm helping you. Or else you'll never get back to District Twelve."

"All right," I say quieter, without hesitation. "But I swear that you're not going to like what I do. I'm not going to let you treat me like I'm crazy."

"But you are, Haymitch," she says with a sigh. "You are."

* * *

The sun's high in the sky by the time we're back in Twelve. The green lawns of the Victor's Village look a little greener, now that I haven't been around for a while. Or maybe that's my imagination. June came, too, to congratulate Katniss on her pregnancy. I personally don't give a damn. So what if Peeta's getting her pregnant for the third time? That just means another little brat running around the Victor's Village. But I'm home. Home. That word means close to nothing. Home is just where I've gone to stay safe from the pain. Home is my dump of a house with the floor covered in broken glass. But it's still District Twelve, still the place where I used to stare at Maysilee when she wasn't looking back when I was young and untouched by drunkenness. Still the place that I loved and that I stood up for in the rebellion and war.

Katniss and Peeta are sitting on their front porch again, the children playing in the yard. Strange, it seems like nothing has changed. Only, Katniss's stomach sticks out a bit, and Prim's injuries have mended perfectly. June walks up the steps to their porch while I just stare and Katniss and Peeta's house, knowing that I will never be welcome there. They hate me. Even June hates me now. She didn't say one word to me on the train ride back here. So I stand in the street, feeling alone with the sun beating down on me.

I'm thinking about just going back to my house to see if Peeta missed some liquor when he dumped it down the drain when damn little Gale comes running down the steps and runs out to me. "Hi!" he says. Oh, yeah, he definitely is a smaller version of Peeta. No way in hell would Katniss ever be this trusting. "I'm Gale!" The little brat must not recognize me. I have to admit, I look drastically different when I'm sober.

Katniss stands up and walks toward us to pull Gale away from me, seeing as he's now wrapped his arms around my legs. "You know that bastard," mutters Katniss darkly to her son. "That's Haymitch. The one that hurt your sister. And he'll hurt you, too, if you're stupid enough to run up and hug him." She scoops him up in her arms. He shrieks in glee. Peeta starts calling out to Katniss that she shouldn't be picking him up, since she's pregnant. That diverts the attention away from me as Katniss responds back so rudely that I'm impressed, so I start walking quickly down the street to the house next door so I can lose myself in the alcohol that isn't there. Well, maybe the place at least smells like alcohol. That thought is slightly comforting to me.

I open the door to my house with a creak. Yeah, still smells like liquor. Unfortunately, it's more pain than comfort. It just makes me want to drink even more. I wade through the carpeting of shattered liquor bottles into the bathroom and am shocked by my reflection. My eyes appear sunken into my head, and my face is thinner. My hair is a greasy mess that sticks up everywhere. My skin looks yellow. I am much thinner than before. But I am stronger. The muscles in my body, barely used since my Games, have been made as strong as when I was young. But that reminds me of something else about the Quell. I rip off my shirt and throw it down on the floor. My fingers trace the thick scars on my stomach, from the wound that nearly killed me in the arena. The Capitol had to pull me out of there with my organs falling out and me holding them in. And then I feel like I'm sixteen again, and practically come back from the dead.

_I'm lying in the bed with perfect white sheets. One of the Capitol doctors hovers over me like an annoying insect. If I were stronger and not on so much drugs, I'd swat at him, too. I sit up and let the sheets fall away, pulling them off of me and exposing my naked body. I examine myself. My skin is free of scars, except for an arrangement of thick, painful-looking scars on my stomach. The doctor examines my face and pulls the sheets over me again. I don't care. The entire nation of Panem has seen me stark naked, so what does it matter?_

_"Don't worry, we're going to get rid of those disgusting scars soon," says the doctor encouragingly as I lay down again, sleepy and overcome with grief for Maysilee. Her name hits me like a stab. I know that I want to forget this. I want to forget it all and make it a nightmare that I will wake up out of, grateful that the real world is better. But that's stupid. And I know that, no matter how much I want to forget it all, I need to remember. Because it has made me so much stronger._

_"No," I say, and my eyes close. As I drift off, I hear myself say, "Keep the scars."_

I wince, biting my lip and trying not to cry now. The flashbacks are coming too often for me, almost as bad as the first days after my victory. I sigh, and I'm about to pull on my shirt and go to my bedroom to get some sleep and cry in peace, but I hear a noise. A soft exhalation, almost a sigh of exasperation. And I turn around, and there's Katniss Everdeen, of all people, standing in the threshold. Even pregnant and older now, she still looks like the young rebel that I knew back in the war. Great. Katniss. She hates me like hell after what I did to Prim, and I guess that she wants to yell at me for it now. But then I remember how her and Peeta and June and the kids treat me, and a hot feeling of fury spreads through me. I could get back at them all for what they've done to me. I could get revenge. And Katniss is my victim.

"Haymitch," she says, contempt entering her voice. "Put your shirt on." I shake my head, too conflicted to speak. She pulls me out into the hallway. "You almost killed Prim," she hisses furiously. "Prim didn't do anything."

I decide not to bother with apologies and get right to business. "I thought Prim was already dead," I say. "You know. Your bitch of a sister."

For a second, I feel like I need to take it back, because Katniss's light silver-gray eyes fill with tears that threaten to spill over at any second. I feel a rush of guilt when I see her about to cry because of what I said about her sister Prim. All right, who in Panem didn't like her? But I'm just angry at Katniss. Then she blinks, and every bit of repentant thought that enters my head blows away on a sudden gust of wind. Her eyes are filled with fury. "D-don't you dare say that," she stammers. "I hate you, Haymitch. You're worthless, you know that?" Her hands dart out and grasp my arm. Her eyes survey the scar from when I cut myself. "No wonder you hate yourself," she says after a few seconds. "If I were you, I'd hate myself, too."

That's an insult, right? Yeah, that's definitely an insult, and one that I won't take. If there's one thing I can't here, it's the truth. "Well, I hate _you_!" I yell. I'm not sure, but I think that she looks a bit scared. That makes me smile. I can terrify the famous Katniss Everdeen. I scare her when not much else did. And no wonder. "You're full of yourself. And none of you understand. None of you. No wonder. You and Peeta aren't really victors and never will be." I hear a light gasp come out of Katniss's mouth. "Because you won together. To really be a victor, you have to lose everything you care about. And you didn't. All you lost was that little bitch, Rue."

Then I feel something very hard hit the side of my head, and I hear a horrible scream. Only when I catch my breath do I realize that I am the one screaming. I sink to the ground dizzily as the world fades. It's so blurry. I feel almost drunk. Except for the horrible pain in my head. Katniss is standing over me, holding something that looks suspiciously like a brick. I guess Thresh from the seventy-fourth Hunger Games rubbed off on her too much. I touch the side of my head with shaking hands, and I can't help the pitiful whimpering noise that comes out of me. It's swelling already, and my fingers come away soaked in red blood. I feel like I'm going to throw up right here and now. I try to fight it for a second, but then I lean forward and spew everything I've eaten recently onto the floor. Katniss is laughing. Laughing at me. Because she just _hit me over the head with a brick_!

I think that I might scream. But I feel dizzy, and I struggle to my feet. "That hurt, sweetheart," I mutter, my voice thick. There's blood coming out of my mouth. Why is there blood? Maybe I hit the floor harder than I thought. It hurts. Oh, damn it, it feels like someone's hammering at my head. And my senses are getting weaker and weaker, and everything's spinning. "Y'know, I really hate you." I pull her down onto the carpet. "I hate you, sweetheart."

Then... well, I don't know exactly what I'm doing. Maybe deep down. I remember the small things. Katniss's fast, nervous breathing in my ears, hot on the skin of my face. My fingers sliding off my belt, and I think maybe all my clothes. Smooth skin under my hands. A sensation that I've only felt once, that somehow reminds me of the lover that I left back in District Twelve when I was a tribute. I think I know what I'm doing. I think I'm raping Katniss. Maybe.

And the whole time, as the pounding in my head gets worse, she is silent. She knows that I could take her. Right now. But when it's all over with, and I'm smiling vaguely, she's screaming. _Peeta Peeta Peeta Peeta Peeta!_ His name is repeated too much, in Katniss's voice that becomes steadily shriller and shriller with every repeat. It's like a bullet in my head every time she yells. I hear myself yelling at her to shut up.

Then there's Peeta, standing in the hallway, seeing our naked bodies on the carpet, seeing the blood and the brick and the vomit, and he's pulling Katniss to her feet. And there's Katniss, bawling like a baby in Peeta's arms, still naked, tears streaking her face. And here I am. Here. Lying sprawled on the floor, too dizzy to get up, blood trickling out of the corner of my mouth and pouring out of my head, making my hair sticky. I breathe hard, but every breath makes a stab of pain hit my head, so I just close my eyes and wait to black out.

The last thing I hear is Katniss's sobs and Peeta's words of comfort to her as she cries. Because I have just raped the girl on fire, and they hate me for it.


	6. One Last Chance

**Author's Note:**

**Hey! I'm back with a new chapter! As always, I would like reviews to know what I may need to improve, but I won't really get into that. Sorry if my rather dirty previous chapter scared anyone off. So now Haymitch must be in big trouble now... Poor Haymitch. Or Katniss, depending on your perspective. Here's the chapter!**

_One Last Chance_

_I knew that it would come to this as soon as Maysilee died. That I would have to live on for her, and be the victor, and victory means a deadly fight that will result in one winner. One. And there is two of us left. The bitch from District One that should have died long ago, and me. Haymitch Abernathy of District Twelve, who has defied the odds long enough. I know that it's going to be bad._

_The girl's eyes are bright with hunger for killing. The real meaning of the Hunger Games: the Capitol, hungering for the blood of tributes. But that's beyond the point, isn't? The point is that I'm going to die. "Abernathy," she sneers. "You want to go back to Twelve, hmm? Back to your coal mine, right, Abernathy?"_

_I have my knife. I keep telling myself that I can do this, but she's bigger than me and taller, therefore stronger, with a sharpened ax that seems to beg for my blood to be spilled. The traitorously beautiful woods around me goes silent. I try not to look as terrified as I feel and bring that familiar cocky smirk to my face. "Well, good for you, you learned my name," I say sarcastically. I can imagine the Capitol laughing hysterically at this._

_"I know. So I can brag about killing you when I'm the victor," she says, and then she slams me to the ground. My head hits a tree, and I feel dizzy, but I manage to cling to my knife. The girl is kneeling on my chest. I think my ribs are ready to shatter to pieces from her weight. I... can't... breathe. I desperately suck in mouthfuls of air, staring up at her weakly. I am trying to look defeated now, so she'll be arrogant._

_"Let me see," she says, shifting her body back so she's kneeling on my legs and waist. I grunt in pain, feeling the sweat pour off my face. But despite the overwhelming pain pulsing through me, I notice that she isn't holding down my arms. "I think I should start killing you, shouldn't I?"_

_"Me first," I say without thinking, sitting up and stabbing her right in the eye._

_She howls in pain, swearing almost tearfully, the blood pouring down her face. She's trying to yank my knife out, but I'm still stabbing. I twist the blade around, severing her eye. She screams so loudly that my ears are ringing. I throw the slimy, bloody eye into the woods for the scavengers. Her eye socket is gushing blood. "Abernathy," she hisses, gritting her teeth in pain. "You're going to regret that." She moves off of me for a second, and just as I'm sitting up straighter and getting ready to run, she strikes out with her ax._

_I don't care when I scream so loud that the birdsong goes silent. I just care about the ax sinking deep into my stomach, slicing down hard and sure, then being yanked out roughly. I lean against a tree, breathing hard and staring at the blood gushing out of me. I sit up again, but then I feel a horrible, sick sensation, and I see my intestines fall out of my body, lying in the grass. I stare at the slippery pink flesh. The pain is so awful that I think that I'm going to start crying. Or just die. Just get it over with. I stuff my intestines back in, groaning horribly and squeezing my eyes shut. I want to die now. I just want the pain to stop. Or maybe it will now._

_"Kill me," I say, breathing hard as I stand up painfully, wiping the sweat from my forehead with one hand and holding my organs in with the other. Oh, God, my knife! My last damn chance! I bend over to pick it up, but then the girl presses me to the ground face first and grabs my knife. We are watering the grass with our blood._

_"You're not going to make it, Abernathy," she says, taking my knife. I can hear her spit, feel the glob of saliva hit my neck. "Don't move or I'll just make it last even longer." I stay still, unable to do anything but soak the ground with my blood and lie there. A minute or so later, I roll over, overcome by a wave of sickness, and throw up everything I've eaten for the past few hours. She attempts a laugh, but I can tell that she's dying, too. That there can only be one victor, but whose injury is worse?_

_I stand up quickly, hopelessly. I rip my shirt off and throw it on the ground, then run for it, holding my guts in as I run. The edge. I've got to get to the edge of the arena, so maybe I'll have a plan from there. If she decides to throw the ax... and if I'm on the edge of the cliff... and if it misses me... I almost smile, but the pain is blinding. Running makes it worse, although I think you'd call this staggering. I'm lucky that I'm not running into trees. The edge. I see it now, the cliff and bare earth, as I burst out of the woods_. Almost there. Maysilee wanted you to win, Haymitch. You've got to make it.

_I barely make it. Just as I reach the edge of the cliff, I turn to see the girl throw her ax at me. I actually mean to duck or dodge it, but no, I collapse pitifully on the ground, spilling my intestines out and pouring blood into the dirt and small rocks. I see the ax fly over the cliff and smile weakly, knowing what will happen. Unless, of course, I just lie here and die right now. We're both weaponless, so the girl's just trying to live longer than I will, holding a cupped hand over her eye socket with blood trickling between her fingers. I'm just convulsing on the ground, writhing in agony._

_Then I hear something whistling in the air over my, and I would smile if it didn't hurt so much. I see the ax flying through the air. Sinking deep into the girl's head, through her skull and into her brain. And I watch her fall._

_The cannon sounds before she can even scream._

_I have killed her._

_The trumpets sound out through the arena. The music seems odd for a second in this pool of blood that I lie in, but then it comes to me, what these trumpets are for. They are for me. The trumpets are _mine_._

_Because I am the victor. If they can keep me alive._

I wake up quickly, the pounding in my head unbearable. So much pain. I become aware of more than pain. Rain drumming on a window steadily. Even the sky is crying. It is night. I am in my house. I start screaming so loud. I'm dying again. I can almost feel the blood soaking my body, smell the dirt and metallic blood. "No!" I yell. I sit up abruptly, but then I get dizzy and feel so badly sick. I lean over the side of my bed and throw up so hard that my face gets hot. I can't seem to stop. Someone shoves a trash bin at me, and I lean over it, grasping the edges with white knuckles and staring at the foully smelling half-digested food that comes out of me, adding more every few seconds.

"Easy there," mutters a grudging voice. I look up for a second. Plutarch Heavensbee. Why the hell is _he_ here? Damn Gamemaker. Then I've got to lean down again, vomit pouring out of my mouth. "You've got a bad concussion." I don't acknowledge this, throwing up over and over into the trash can until it's getting a bit too full for my liking. Soon, nothing comes out of me, and I dry heave again and again, still leaning over the trash can, which is noticeably heavier than it was before.

A few minutes later, I sit up and set the trash can down. "Why're you here?" I mutter, and then it comes back to me. District Twelve. Raping Katniss. Oh, great. I sigh. "All right. Kill me. I don't care anymore. You know that I don't."

Plutarch's face goes red with anger. "Haymitch, you know exactly what you've done!" he yells. This is the angriest I've ever seen him. "You raped Katniss Everdeen! She was, is, and will always be the Mockingjay, and you can't get away with that!"

Well, if he's going to yell, I might as well have some fun myself. "She hit me in the head with a brick!" I yell right back at him. Even though I'm in significant danger of puking again from yelling so loud. My head pounds, making my stomach lurch. "You and your other Gamemaker bastards should have killed Thresh back in the Seventy-Fourth, because he's rubbed off on your perfect little Mockingjay too much!"

For a second, Plutarch can't even speak. Then he takes a deep breath. "Haymitch Abernathy, I'm trying to be patient with you," he says, his voice getting louder and louder with every word. "So why the hell did you _do_ that?"

I start screaming at him. "NONE OF YOU ARE EVER GOING TO KNOW!" I yell. "Damn it! You all think I'm a worthless former drunk who deserves to die, right? Well, you're right, I guess! Kill me, I don't care! My life is worthless!" I would start yelling more, but I feel sickness bubbling up in me again, and I try to belch and end up throwing up all over myself twice before I can steer myself to the trash bin again.

Plutarch sighs once I'm done. I strip my shirt off, wondering briefly who clothed me, but it doesn't really matter. "Haymitch, I need to ask you a sincere question," he says, locking eyes with me. I look down, unable to meet his eyes. "Do you really want to die so much, Haymitch?"

I think about it. Dying. It isn't painless, like some idiots think. It's full of pain. Maysilee was in pain when she died. So were all of the other tributes who I have watched for years on television dying. They were all in pain. But I don't worry about who I'll leave behind. No, I'm too selfish for that. I don't worry about what will happen after I die. I'm not that stupid. I just want to leave it all behind. All of it. And no one will give a damn. I bet there'd be celebrations across District Twelve. Hell, maybe even across Panem.

"Yeah," I say. And I mean it. I want to die. I want to be with Maysilee. My beautiful ally, who made those days in the arena drag by. I want to be with the others, too but not as much. Finnick. To hear his laugh again, and I can almost imagine his sugar cubes and green eyes. Prim. To see her tending to someone's wounds gently, reassuring them in her quiet voice. Chaff. To have someone to drink with, because even though I've been drinking alone for years and years, it still hurts to know that I am lonely. And so many others. "Yeah. I want to die."

Plutarch seems to consider this for a moment. His brow furrows. "Then... I would offer my condolences, but I'm rather angry at you, and it's what you want. According to the laws of Panem's new democracy, you should be executed." He frowns. "I don't want to do what you want, though. Although, from what it sounds like, death to you would just mean putting you out of your misery." I nod and wipe my mouth, spitting into the trash and lying down. The bed feels so inviting. I close my eyes. I need to sleep.

"Haymitch. Listen to me, Haymitch," he says just as I'm drifting off. I open my eyes and sit up uncomfortably. Plutarch's eyes are more serious that I have seen from him before. "You have one last chance, Haymitch. If you blow this one, too, then you're going to die." He takes a breath. "You're going to need heavy medication and a lot of therapy to get through this. If you step out of line again, then you're dead. And as a former Gamemaker, I'm not exaggerating." He stares at me for a second. "Do you understand me, Haymitch?"

I nod. "Yeah," I mutter sleepily. "I get it." I lie down again, my eyelids drooping down. I feel myself falling asleep. Then I open my eyes. "They hate me. Don't they." Plutarch looks confused for a second. "I mean, Katniss. Peeta. Their kids. They hate me."

He sighs. "They have every reason to hate you," he says slowly. "Every reason. You raped Katniss, after all, and almost killed Prim." He stands up from his chair by my bed, shuffling through the broken glass. "Well, I'll be going now. You'll know more about your new procedures tomorrow."

"Wait," I say all of a sudden, without thinking. He turns around, raising his eyebrows. "What about June? I mean, Mrs. Everdeen, Katniss's mother. Does she hate me, too?"

There is a long pause as Plutarch thinks about how to answer my question. Then he looks at me. "She's very angry at you," he says finally. As he leaves and shuts the door, I hear the rest of the answer. "But I don't think she hates you, Haymitch."

I sigh and pull the covers up to my chin. A sudden rush of happiness overtakes me, spontaneous in the sea of gloom and shattered glass that is my life. I have something to live for. I have a chance. One chance. My last chance that I will get, and then I will die if I waste this chance, too, just killing one more thing. Breaking more bottles of liquor that don't exist anymore. I am already broken into dust. But is there a chance that I can fix myself? Or have someone else fix me if I can't do it alone?

Well, I know one thing, at least. Yes, the deal that I have made with Plutarch Heavensbee about my life is my one last chance. A road in the night. But I can't follow it without any light.

But maybe... maybe June can be my one shining star.

One shining star in the night is all that it takes to find the path out of the shattered, broken place where I am now.


	7. The Haze of Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

**Well, here we are again! I know that these author's notes are really repetitive, but oh, well. I would really appreciate some reviews, as always, because I really want to know how I'm doing. WARNING: This chapter is kind of gory and contains... well, I don't want to be a spoiler. I'm not trying to take anything too lightly at all. Just saying, because I don't want anyone saying that I'm offending them or something. ANOTHER WARNING: This chapter changes points of view a _lot,_ so don't be confused. Here's the chapter!**

_The Haze of Goodbye_

Days pass. A week. Two weeks. Three weeks. A month. Over the time, my therapist has forced me out of sleep at two o'clock in the afternoon every day but Sunday, to 'discuss my condition'. I usually end up screaming at him. Then he puts me on yet more drugs. I am already half-deadened with drugs. It is killing me slowly. Katniss and Peeta and June and the little brats hate me like hell. But who cares? Katniss hit me in the head with a brick, damn it, so why didn't they do anything about that? No, they just cared that I raped Katniss. And it gets harder to bear, every day, as Katniss gets more pregnant, Peeta gets more nervous, I get slightly more drugged, and I dream of Maysilee and my time in the arena every single night. I'm sick of it. I want it to end.

This morning, I go home after a night of roaming the streets. The bottles of pills next to the sink in my bathroom just remind me of how awful it is. I'm on so much drugs that I almost forget who I am, and the side effects keep me wide awake when I'm trying to sleep or make me throw up for hours on end. And they let me. They let me retch and cry all night and walk the streets of District Twelve like a ghost by night. They don't care. I clench my hands on the edges of the sink. Damn pills. Since it's a Sunday, I can get out of talking with the therapist. I fill a cup with water, then swallow all of my pills just like I've been told. My stomach clenches in protest, but I sigh. I just want to end it all.

Then it hits me. I can. The pills. And I know for a fact that Peeta didn't melt my knife, and he keeps it in his and Katniss's bedroom. And it's perfect, since I don't need to be interrupted by the therapist today. Besides, I know that a few of my old friends from Twelve that used to sell in the Hob -Greasy Sae, Ripper, and others- started up a brand new black market right over the ashes of their old one. I can just act like I'm going for a walk. Only, people usually come back from walks, and I don't plan on doing that.

I shove all of the pill bottles in a backpack and sling it over my shoulders, putting a thick wad of dollar bills into my pocket. As I'm ready to leave for Katniss's house to steal my knife back, I remember one last thing. I take a scrap of paper and the stub of a pencil and scrawl out a message. Hopefully my last words to them.

_I went to the Hob. Don't come looking for me. I'll be back by sunset._

_- Haymitch._

* * *

Peeta's POV, third person

"Peeta?" calls Katniss to him. "Um... can you make me some cheese buns?" Peeta sighs, running a hand through his wavy blond hair. Katniss is in her fourth month of pregnancy, and she's having some strange cravings. Although, of course, she's always had a soft spot for Peeta's cheese buns. "Please?" She smiles as she braids Prim's dark hair into braided pigtails. The little girl giggles in happiness, and Peeta thinks that it wouldn't be possible for him to be happier than this.

"Sure," he says, kissing Katniss on the cheek. He walks inside to the oven, but stops when he hears a noise upstairs. "Gale?" he says, puzzled. But no, his son is out sleeping on the porch. "Katniss?" he asks nervously. Katniss walks in, confused. "I heard something upstairs. In our room."

She shrugs and walks up the stairs. "No, I'll do it," Peeta insists, laying a hand on Katniss's shoulder. She sighs as Peeta walks up the stairs. "Hello?" he asks tentatively, opening the door. But no, the room is empty. Completely empty. He sighs in relief. "All right, I guess I was imagining it," he calls down to Katniss, though Peeta knows that he heard something up in the room. "I'll get started making those cheese buns for you, Katniss."

* * *

Ripper's POV, third person

Haymitch staggers into the Hob a few minutes after it opens right at sunrise. Ripper, thinking to herself, doesn't hesitate to admit that she has thought that he was handsome since they were both young and even before he went into the Games. But now, even though the muscles that Ripper remember he had from the Quarter Quell are more obvious now that he's very thin, he looks awful. The sunken, sad, gray eyes that break her heart and make her want to sell him all of her white liquor. The greasy, tangled mop of dark curly hair that sticks to his sweaty face. The drastically thin body. The stagger in his walk. "Hey," he says, leaning on the counter of the stand that Ripper uses to sell white liquor. To her surprise, he leans over and hugs her.

"Are you okay, Haymitch?" she asks, once he's pulled away. He seems far too friendly in her opinion. Haymitch isn't himself at all, since he's never friendly. She hears a rattling in his bag and unzips it, pulling out a container. An empty bottle of pills, and then at least five more. Ripper's breath catches in her throat. Haymitch got high. _Haymitch_. How could he have done this to himself? Then she remembers how depressed he is, how suicidal... That last word stays in her mind. Haymitch is trying to kill himself.

"I'm fine," he mutters, closing his eyes for a second, looking tired. He slaps a handful of dollar bills down on the counter, then empties his pockets until an unbelievable amount of money is right here in front of Ripper. "Hey, can you get me some liquor? As much as this'll buy. If there's change, keep it."

It takes a few minutes for her to add up the total of his money, much less figure out how much it will buy in white liquor. Finally, she shoves the money into the carved wooden container where she stores the money that she has earned. "That buys twenty-six bottles," Ripper says, frowning. "You're not stocking up, are you?" As she expects, he shakes his head. "Haymitch..." She lowers her voice. "Are you trying to kill yourself?"

That's all it takes for his patience to end. "Yeah, I am!" he snarls. His eyes are furious, but filled with a sadness so deep that it stings. "Just take your money and don't ask again. Don't tell Katniss or Peeta or June that I'm here, all right? They won't be seeing me again." He takes a deep breath, taking the first of many liquor bottles and opening it, tipping it back and slopping some down his shirt. When he lowers the bottle, he speaks again. "Look, I'm sick of it. You know that I'm sick of it. And I'm..." He winces as the alcohol reaches his stomach. "I'm high and getting drunk. I've got a knife. You can't stop me."

Before Ripper can stop herself, she lays her remaining hand on his shoulder. "Haymitch, I don't want to lose you," she whispers, her eyes widening. "Please don't, Haymitch. All of us have gone through pain and lost people we love. We can get over it. And you were doing so well before..." Her voice cuts off, because she means to say, _before you raped Katniss_.

"Before I raped Katniss," finishes Haymitch, so accurate that it's uncanny. "I know. But you've got other people that care about you. Everyone does but me. You know that. Katniss and Peeta have each other. Everyone has others. But me, I don't. I've got no one. The rest sleep at night with their lovers. I sleep during the day with a knife." Ripper flinches. She has heard rumors about this, but she can hardly believe that they are true. And the harshness in his voice is a shock to her. "You know why? I have nightmares every time I sleep. I feel safer with a knife. I feel like I'm going to die if I ever sleep when it's dark, because then all the tributes from the arena come back to kill me. And the ones that died in the war. I can't stand it. I'm drugged all the time. I..." He finishes off the first bottle and throws it to the ground, where it shatters. Broken glass. Like Haymitch. Haymitch was once unbroken, and now he is completely shattered, and nothing can repair that. "I've got to end it."

He hands Greasy Sae a few coins. "Can I have a bowl of stew?" he asks. Greasy Sae's been listening to Ripper and Haymitch talking, and she's frowning. "Oh, damn it, not you, too." Greasy Sae's granddaughter, who's a bit slow in the head and who used to completely live in her own world, cocks her head to listen. She views the world as her friend now, but she's gotten a lot better. "Look, I'm going to go into one of the back rooms." The new Hob is in a building with one floor, with a main room and a few other smaller rooms that are frequented by District Twelve's prostitutes. Haymitch isn't the type to waste his money on any common whore. So he's going to kill himself. "Don't come back there even if you here me scream or something. Please. You know why."

All right, something's really wrong. Haymitch never says 'please'. But he just leans against the wall, drinking his stew right from the bowl and dripping a bit of it down his chin. He's a wreck, covered in alcohol now, with a drip of broth on his face. "Haymitch, don't," Ripper blurts out. "I don't think you should. I want you alive."

"I do, too," insists Greasy Sae, taking Haymitch's empty soup bowl and washing it in her pail of grayish water with a grayish bar of soap. "Haymitch, we've known you since you were sixteen and you started coming here to drink." She gives a light laugh, a bit bitter. "Haymitch, I don't want you to kill yourself."

"_I_ want to kill myself," Haymitch counters, dipping his knife in his second bottle of liquor and polishing it on the edge of his shirt. "So... I'm going now," he adds gruffly, not meeting Ripper's eyes, or Greasy Sae's. "Say goodbye if you like. You won't be seeing me alive again."

Ripper doesn't hold back when she steps out and hugs Haymitch. She breathes in deeply. Haymitch smells like white liquor and Greasy Sae's wild dog stew. But, to her surprise, he lets her embrace him. She actually expected him to pull away. But no, he's wrapping his arms around her. "You know that I'll miss you, Haymitch," Ripper says, looking up into his bloodshot gray eyes. So dark that they are almost a shade of very pale black. She steps away from him, excepting him to be annoyed, but his expression softens a bit. "All of us will."

Greasy Sae gives him a light kiss on the forehead, almost motherly. "She's right, Haymitch," she says. "If you've got any second thoughts, any at all, don't."

"I don't have any second thoughts," he says, staring at the ground. He looks up. "Oh, and may the odds be in your favor."

That's the last thing he says before he walks away and shuts the door to one of the rooms in the back. Haymitch. Gone forever.

* * *

Katniss's POV, third person

Katniss walks upstairs to the bedroom, lying down in bed, even though it's morning. The children are playing quietly inside. Katniss thinks that maybe she ate one too many of Peeta's delicious cheese buns. But she couldn't help herself. She ate about five of them. She stares up at the blades of my ceiling fan spinning and spinning, and then she notices something. The closet door is open. She frowns. Peeta never leaves the closet door open. Katniss gets up with a sigh, and then she remembers the one item of true value that her and Peeta keep there. Not her mockingjay pin. But Haymitch's knife that he used to sleep with for years. Peeta knows that if Haymitch got to this, it would be all over for him. Or for Katniss herself. But Haymitch has already raped her, so what worse could he do? She knows that Haymitch wouldn't actually kill her... would he?

She searches through the closet, expecting to cut her finger on the rusty edge and then need to get herself tested for disease. But no, the knife is nowhere. And then she's panicking, because Peeta heard something up here, right before he started to make the cheese buns. "Peeta!" she calls frantically. He must hear the worry in her voice, because he's there in seconds.

"Calm down, honey," he says soothingly, stroking Katniss's hair. "What is it, Katniss?"

She swallows a mouthful of spit. "Peeta, you heard something up here a while ago, right before you started to make cheese buns," she says. His brows crease in worry and confusion. "Peeta..." She doesn't know how to tell him. "Peeta, Haymitch's knife is gone."

Then she hears someone outside pounding the doorbell over and over.

* * *

Greasy Sae's granddaughter's POV, **first** person

I pound the doorbell of the house. Katniss and Peeta are my friends. So are Prim and Gale, their children. They'd want to save Haymitch, wouldn't they? Even though Haymitch isn't so nice, definitely not nice as Peeta, he still is a good person inside. Isn't he? I bang the doorbell over and over and over and over, wanting Peeta or Katniss to answer it. I may not be as aware as others, but I still am not stupid. I know that a knife and white liquor and pills and being alone and goodbyes means that Haymitch wants to go away. To die. Up to heaven. No more Haymitch Abernathy. But I like him. Everyone is nice inside to me.

Peeta answers the door. Peeta is one of my favorite people ever. He is so nice, and he always gives me cookies with beautiful frosting. I like pink frosting the most. "Hello, Emma," he says. But the smile on his face looks fake, like when people try to tell you that everything is all right when it isn't. "What can I do for you?" I see Katniss, standing behind him. She looks kind of fat, but then I remember that she's pregnant. I feel a bit happy. I want Katniss to name her child something nice. I hope it's a girl.

"Haymitch is gonna kill himself, Peeta," I say, looking up wide-eyed at him. "He came to the Hob and he swallowed all his pills so he's -what do you call it? oh, yeah- high. He bought a lot of white liquor from Ripper. Twenty-six whole bottles! Then he bought some stew from my grandma. And he said goodbye to Ripper and Grandma, and he went into one of the _back rooms_." My eyes widen even more. The back rooms are forbidden to me. Grandma says that only poor, sad people trying to make some money go back their, and that I shouldn't disturb them, no matter what odd noises came from the rooms. "Grandma says that people who sell themselves go in there. Peeta, what does selling yourself mean?"

Peeta sighs. "You'll learn when you're older, Emma," he says, tousling my hair. I giggle.

"Grandma says that people go back their to buy other people," I continue, now curious. "Is Haymitch buying someone? Is it like slavery or something?"

Katniss snorts out of sight, but Peeta scowls. "Haymitch better not be buying someone's... um, someone," he mutters. "And let's leave your thoughts at 'or something', Emma." He frowns. I don't like it when Peeta's sad, so I give him a big hug. He is still frowning. "You said that he got high and had a lot of white liquor. Did he have anything else?"

I nod. "But it wasn't just a _lot_, Peeta, it was twenty-six bottles." Peeta forces a smile. I go on. I want to make Peeta happy. "He had a knife. He polished in his liquor! Just like this: he just put it in and wiped it off! It's still all rusty, though." I frown, too. "Haymitch wants to go up to the happy place. Heaven. He wants to be happy and be with Maysilee Donner again." I grin. "Paradise. Haymitch is sad, Peeta," I add, my smile fading. "He went into the slavery rooms and said for Grandma not to come and get him even if he was screaming. That's bad, Peeta. Poor Haymitch."

Katniss spits on the ground. I cringe. Ew. In her own house and everything. "Poor Haymitch?" she says. Then she looks at me with her gray eyes. "Haymitch... did something very bad to me, Emma," Katniss says. "I'm angry at him still."

"Let's go and save him!" I say happily, tugging on Katniss's sleeve.

Peeta shakes his head. "No, I'll go with you, Emma," he says. I smile. Peeta can have a running contest with me on the way! I'm so excited. Besides, I want to make Haymitch happy. Poor Haymitch. He never smiles. To Katniss, Peeta says, "You stay and watch the children. You're in no shape to be running around the district." Then he turns toward me again. "Ready, Emma? Let's go."

"I can run faster than you!" I boast, giggling, putting on some extra speed. But Peeta looks unhappy. "Peeta, do you think Haymitch is going to be okay?" I ask as I run. Peeta shrugs, and we keep running all the way to the Hob. But from there, we stop talking.

I run into the building. "Grandma!" I say. "I brought Peeta." Peeta smiles weakly, out of breath from all of the running. Grandma gives me a hug.

"Oh, Emma, you work wonders," she says, kissing me on the cheek. "Hopefully, Haymitch hasn't done anything stupid yet." She looks up. "Thank you for coming on such short notice, Peeta. Haymitch is in the first room. He's been... well, I've heard him screaming a few times. You might be too late." She gestures to the first of the slavery rooms. "Go!"

Peeta knocks on the door tentatively. "Haymitch?" he asks. Peeta is so nice to everyone, not coming in right away. Haymitch doesn't respond, so Peeta opens the door wide and gasps in horror. "Oh, God damn it," he says. I've never heard Peeta say bad words before. "Emma, don't look."

But I look. I peer in and see nothing in the room but a bed. And on the bed, in a bloody heap, lies a still figure. I step in quietly. Haymitch. He's passed out, or he's dead. There is blood all over him, and shattered bottles of white liquor on the floor, mixed with empty pill containers. He looks like he has been broken. The knife sticks out of his chest.

I take a deep breath and look at Peeta, who has gone very pale. "Is Haymitch in heaven?" I ask him fearfully. I want him to say no. I want Haymitch to be alive and happy like he never has been.

Peeta takes a shaky breath. "I hope not, Emma. I really hope not." But Haymitch's blood makes me think that he is gone to somewhere else. A better place.

No more Haymitch Abernathy.

**Author's Note (again):**

**You may have noticed that all of my POVs that aren't Haymitch are written in third person, except for Emma's. I decided that it sounds better in first person for her. Third person wouldn't capture her character as much. Also, I apologize if this chapter was offensive to people. For Emma's mental capabilities, I was just using what was described in the book with a little improvement for her. The suicide and mentions of Haymitch going to a better place may offend people out there, so please do not be offended. I was just trying to get into Emma's character with the last part. And no, Haymitch is NOT DEAD!**

**~ Catching Fireflies**


	8. Reasons to Live

**Author's Note:**

**We're already on Chapter Eight! I can't believe it! As usual, I would like some reviews to see what people think of my fanfic, so please tell me if you like it or not! Many thanks to Anarchy Girl and Nic (guest) for the reviews! By the way, I am not killing off Haymitch. Ever. Well, onto the chapter, since I have nothing else to say.**

_Reasons to Live_

I don't remember much of what happened. Swallowing every one of my pills. The Hob. Ripper's white liquor. Greasy Sae's stew. The back room. The rust on my knife. The flashes of scarlet blood all over me. The pain that filled me. And when I lost it and fell onto the bed and everything went as black as coal.

But now I am kept in a haze that slowly leaves, so slowly. I never open my eyes. I just know that, no matter what I've done, I am alive. I should be dead. I should have been found in the back room of the Hob and been left there to rot. Or maybe one of the people there would drag out my body and dump it in the woods for the wolves and bears to eat. That's what should have happened. I shouldn't be alive now. I should be very, very dead. But someone found me. Saved me, even though I want to close my eyes and never open them again. And I should be grateful, but I hate them. I hate them.

I open my eyes to what seems like blinding light, so much that I squint. I don't feel as much pain as I would expect, though. I sit up slowly, blinking. I am not in the back room of the Hob. I am lying in bed in my house. The light is on, and it seems brighter than the sun. I see the dim outlines of a few people, since my vision still isn't adjusted yet. Then I see them. Katniss. Peeta. June. Katniss and Peeta's children. Plutarch. Greasy Sae. Ripper. Greasy Sae's granddaughter, who I've seen a few times, and I think her name might be something like Emma. I look at them all for a second, and then my eyes move down to my wounds. The deep cuts on my body -my chest, my left shoulder, and my side- are neatly stitched and feel like they barely hurt. I feel like I've never gotten drunk or high. A feeling like wonder hits me. I look up. "I..." I'm at a complete loss for words. "I'm alive." Then another thought hits me. "How the hell did you..."

"Find you? Heal you?" finishes Peeta. Katniss glares at him. "Well, thank Emma. She came and got me and said that you were in the back rooms of the Hob killing yourself. You were literally seconds away from dying when we came. And thank June. She fixed you up."

I don't say anything for a second. "Thanks," I mutter. "For nothing. Can't you see that I'd rather be dead? I though it'd be obvious."

"Well, some of us would like you a lot better if you were dead," mutters Katniss. Peeta glares at her. "Really, I would. Peeta, I don't understand why all of you want to save his life all of a sudden. He raped me, you know. He almost killed Prim."

Peeta gives me a quick warning glance, but I don't care. "Prim's already dead, last time I checked," I say before someone else can tell me to shut up. "And she acted about as young as your bitch of a daughter, so I really don't see a difference, except the first Prim's fertilizing a garden in the Capitol." Katniss bursts into tears, sobbing into Peeta's shirt. Her daughter gives her a hug.

"Haymitch," says Peeta. I recognize his tone of voice, just like when he dumped my liquor. "Don't say that. You should be grateful that you're alive. When we found you, you were passed out in bed, covered in your over blood, high, and drunk. You were almost dead, and when I say almost, I mean that your heart stopped at least three times. You almost died. And we don't want it that way." Looking at him brings back memories of the 74th and 75th Hunger Games, so I can't meet those familiar blue eyes that chill me and remind me of what I have lost. "I'm doing this because we care about you. And I'm sick of you being like this. I almost miss your sarcasm, and that's saying something." He pauses. "You know that you have reasons to live, Haymitch."

I sigh and close my eyes for a second. "And you give me reasons to want death," I mutter, opening my eyes again. "Really, it'd be nice if I could just die already. But you'd never let me."

"No, we wouldn't," says Plutarch. "For obvious reasons. I gave you one last chance, and you blew it. But this time it was self-harm instead of taking your anger out on someone else. Do you even_ realize_ how you've been acting?" His voice is harsh, not at all gentle like Peeta's. I start to feel like someone is throwing knives at me with every word. "Selfish. Stupid. Pitiful." I bite my lip, trying not to feel anything, but it was so much easier when I was drunk. Now, everything is too clear and bright, like a dim, foggy morning when suddenly the sun rises and everything is clear again. Plutarch spits out the last word angrily. I don't think he's ever been so angry. _"Weak."  
_

I am not going to cry. I am not going to cry. I have to do what I pulled off for years: indifference. But now it seems impossible. Plutarch, completely oblivious, continues. "And you should be used to it. Even Katniss has gotten used to it, and do you remember what happened to her?" Peeta sends off his son and daughter to play outside, so they don't hear. Katniss is looking up at Plutarch with wide eyes, wiping the remnants of tears from her face. Peeta comes back and puts his arms around her, whispering comforting words to her. "Her father was vaporized in a mine explosion. She almost starved to death. June, you remember how you felt after your husband died," he adds, and June nods. Plutarch continues heartlessly. "Katniss volunteered for her sister and left everything she knew behind in District Twelve. She almost killed herself in the arena. She survived the Hunger Games twice. She watched her little sister light on fire!" He's almost yelling now. "And think about everyone she cared about that's dead. Her father, Rue, Thresh, Prim, Finnick... I'd say them all, but it would take forever! And you think that you have a reason to sit around and mope and waste your life?"

The sadness that I feel transforms to anger so quickly that it feels like an electric shock. "What the hell?" I yell, standing up, trying not to just fall back down again. "You really think that I've gone through nothing? That some stupid bitch that almost was dumb enough to eat poisonous berries is the only person who's ever felt pain?" Peeta tries to comfort Katniss, who is in tears now. "Well, she isn't the only one! I went into the arena and watched my ally die! I came back to Twelve, and then Snow killed my family and my lover! I mentored twenty-three years of tributes that all died! I watched years and years of the Hunger Games! Almost everyone I cared about is dead!" The room is silent except for my shouting. "And do you think that I matter? No, you don't give a damn, all because I didn't almost kill myself in the arena, or wear a stupid mockingjay pin, and all that shit! And all of the rebels think of no one and nothing but Katniss Everdeen! No one cares!"

Peeta and Katniss leave the room, and I hear the door slam, cutting off Katniss's sobs. Weak, stupid bitch. Emma, Greasy Sae's granddaughter, looks a bit nervous, trembling. Plutarch looks very angry. Ripper is trying not to meet my eyes. Greasy Sae is holding her granddaughter's hand. June looks absolutely furious at me for saying those things about Katniss.

"That is far from true," says Plutarch coldly. "You're being selfish. Do you think that yelling at us and trying to kill yourself will get you any pity? Because you're very wrong." I'm silent for a second. The only sound in the room is my heavy breathing, but Plutarch's words echo in my ears. That I am selfish and seeking nothing but pity. Maybe I am. Maybe I'm worthless and selfish and I don't care about anyone. Maybe it's all true.

"Yeah, maybe I am," I say. "And maybe the Capitol wasn't that bad." Everyone gasps dramatically. "Oh, shut up, it's true. At least back then I could drink all I wanted back before you had to ruin everything."

"Oh, really?" challenges Plutarch. "Well, you wouldn't be drinking in the first place if you hadn't been in the Hunger Games."

He's got a point there, but I hate to admit when I get something wrong. "Why didn't you let me _die_?" I say, putting emphasis on the last word. "I should be dead. Can't you leave it that way and live your lives without me? You should've just put me out of my misery. Or let me do it myself. So why didn't you?" I slide a hand under my pillow. No knife. I'm about to yell at them for that, too, because I'm always terrified of my nightmares, but Plutarch speaks before I get the chance.

"What Peeta said is right," he says, the fury and coldness gone from his voice. "You don't realize it, Haymitch, but you've got reasons to live."

I don't say anything, just snort somewhat bitterly. "Reasons to live, my ass," I mumble. "Give me a reason, and then maybe I won't drink myself to death. Ripper, you'd still sell me some liquor, right?"

"No," says Ripper. I protest, complaining. But she goes on. "You haven't gotten addicted again or anything, and I think that we all like you better sober. Besides, I don't want you dead."

I sigh, but I guess that Plutarch was seriously about giving me a reason, because he keeps talking. Almost like the drone of insects buzzing, it's so monotonous. Only, I can somehow listen, and I know what he's saying. "You used to care about Katniss and Peeta," he says simply. "Remember? You got them sponsor gifts, you gave them advice, you helped Katniss in District Thirteen, you helped Peeta when the Capitol hijacked him... They meant a lot to you. So why on earth did you rape Katniss and almost beat her daughter to death?"

"I was drunk when I beat up Prim!" I say defensively. "It was stupid, all right? I wouldn't do it again. And I wouldn't rape Katniss again." Because this sounds too forgiving, and I feel stupid saying this, I add, "She hit me in the head with a brick, all right? I wasn't thinking right, and I was pissed at her. So I kind of lost it." Then I pause. "By it, I don't really know what I'm saying. If it's something that you can lose, I don't think I've ever had it."

Plutarch sighs. "I almost miss your sarcasm," he says. "But how do you feel about Katniss and Peeta? Really, I'd like to know if you have some type of human kindness left in you."

I think about it for a few minutes. Katniss. Peeta. I still remember when I was just the drunk mentor from Twelve, the laughingstock of the victors, devoid of the honor that every other winner of the Hunger Games felt. I watched forty-six of my tributes die in horrifying ways, two new deaths every year. At that point, I had almost given up. But it felt so strange, hearing the name Primrose Everdeen ring out across the square, then Katniss's panicked volunteering. Just the Seam girl with the blue reaping dress and black braid. I knew from that second on that maybe this year would be a little different. A volunteer. Even when I ran up and threw an arm over her shoulders and congratulated her and fell of the stage and passed out, I knew that she was special. Loyal enough to save her sister's life and sacrifice her own.

And Peeta. The second that his name was called, he was there on the stage, looking out across the audience, his brothers unable to volunteer because of their age, helpless. But he looked so sturdy and strong, not like the scrawny, poor kids that I was used to mentoring. I thought that they might have a chance. I thought that one of them could win.

And when they both won, I can't even describe how I felt. Happy, elated even. Happy enough to put down my bottle of liquor and smile for once in my life. And I cared about them. No matter how much I drank, I cared about them and I didn't want them dead and there was always a part of me deep down that loved both of them as if they are my children. That part of me has withered and almost died and shrank so small that I didn't realize it was in me anymore. I forgot it when I insulted them. When I raped Katniss. When I yelled at their children. When I beat up Prim. But now I remember well enough to know that I should still care about them.

"Yeah," I say, looking up at them, not trying to avoid looking at them. "Yeah, I still care about them." After a second, I realize something that should have been staring me in the face since the war ended. "And what the hell, Plutarch, you can call _that_ one of my reasons to live."_  
_

**Author's Note (again):**

**This was kind of a sweet chapter to write, since the last one was kind of dark. I hope you liked it. It won't always be this nice, though, so be prepared. I have some nice ideas for the plot, and I can't wait to write them. Thank you a billion times over for reading! (Seriously, it means a lot to me that people read my fanfics and hopefully enjoy reading them.)**

**- Catching Fireflies**


	9. Shining Gold

**Author's Note:**

**Well, chapter 9! I'm almost in the double digits now! Thanks to Guest for the review! And I have to warn you, this chapter may be short, but I hope it will touch your heart. (The stuff with the cheese buns was something that me and my sister came up with. Her pen name is Anarchy Girl, and the first chapter of her parody fanfic is about that. I recommend it, it's hilarious if you like dirty jokes.) Before I go on to the chapter, I need to beg you guys. I really need tributes for my SYOT, so if you want to, you can check that out. It's called Burning Blood. Enough of my begging... Here's chapter 9!**

_Shining Gold_

The woods have always been a place to think for me. Like the place that Katniss sang to Rue about. Where all of my troubles wash away. I stare out at the lake, watching the birds fly past from where I sit leaning against a tree. I'd have some of Ripper's best white liquor, but of course Plutarch threatened to make her move all the way to District One and become a Peacekeeper, and who the hell wants to be a Peacekeeper? I hate being sober. But it's getting better to wake up at sunset and know that I maybe still have reasons to live.

Reasons to live. I guess that means that June Everdeen is a reason for me to live, because I feel more attracted to her every day. Her blue eyes that remind me of Maysilee, her graying blond hair, her kind smile when she asks how I'm doing. She's moved down here in District Twelve so she can look after Katniss, who is now four months pregnant and extremely cranky with cravings for Peeta's cheese buns that he has to make for her all the time. I can't help but laugh every time Katniss says that she wants some cheese buns, so I go and tell Peeta that Katniss wants some nice warm cheese buns with extra cheese. Peeta sees the implications and starts laughing too. And he always tells me, "I'm glad that you've got your sarcasm back."

Katniss is being a bitch most of the time, whenever I bother to visit her. Always complaining, with her son and daughter running around and playing tag outside. But her mother is always nice to me, never a rude word. Even though I always beg her for liquor whenever I see her, she always says that I need to get over it and that I'm doing much better. Like Peeta, she actually appreciates my sarcasm and insists that it means that I'm getting better. Well, even Katniss laughs when I made dirty remarks about Peeta's cheese buns.

I look up all of a sudden, hearing a noise. Laughter. Young, giggling laughter rings out through the woods, and I stand up with a groan. My legs ache from sitting down for so long. Then I see Prim and Gale, Katniss and Peeta's little children, running around the forest and laughing. "Tag!" shrieks Prim, smacking her brother lightly. "You're it!" They race through the woods happily.

"Shh," Prim says solemnly to her brother. Her wide blue eyes are very somber. "Mommy and Daddy said not to come to the woods. They said to play in the yard instead. They might hear us if we aren't quiet." I try not to laugh, since we're miles from the Victor's Village and Katniss and Peeta would need impossibly good hearing to even know they were in the woods at all.

"Okay," says Gale dutifully, nodding and smiling that innocent smile that takes away any hardheartedness that I ever had. They're only yards away from where I'm sitting, but they don't notice me. Gale points up at a tall oak tree. "Mommy used to climb trees, right, Prim? Let's try!" He looks so happy, and Prim squeals with delight, her pigtails bouncing as she jumps up and down. "I'll go first!" he says, somehow managing to get to the first low branch. "Come on, Prim!"

Quietly, I move closer to them, frowning at the tree. Something seems wrong. Silent. Then I realize that there are no birds singing around it, and never have been as long as I've been here. That can never be good. As the two children climb higher and higher, I study every bit of the tree. My time in the poisoned arena that still haunts my dreams always makes me more observant of things that may seem harmless. I step closer, squinting into the morning sunlight. That's when I see it. The tracker jacker nest. And Gale is... Oh, God. Gale's poking it with a stick.

"Look, Prim," he says. "What's this?" I can't do anything but watch. Even if I started climbing -which would be a stretch already- it would be too late. They're too high up already. Doesn't Gale see the tracker jackers? "Prim, there's wasps coming out of it." He pokes it again, and I wince. "Ahh!" he yells suddenly. "Priiim! I got stung! Ahh, Priiim!" He's crying, clinging onto a branch.

Oh, God. I don't know what to do. Prim's shrieking in pain as the tracker jackers come after her. Okay, that's it. I can't let the hallucinate themselves to death up in a tree. Soon enough, they're going to fall off the branches and onto the unforgiving stones below. I try to remember how Katniss taught me to climb trees back before the third Quarter Quell as I lift myself onto the lowest branch, standing on it shakily. "Gale!" I yell. "Prim! Shut up and try to climb down, all right?" They don't hear me. I sigh and start climbing as fast as I am able.

Prim's been stung less than than Gale, only twice. She's crying. Gale is stung four times and counting. Oh, God, no. The shining gold of the tracker jackers almost makes me lose it. I grab Gale right off the branch, slinging him onto my back easily as he clings to my neck so hard that I gag. Prim is harder to get to. She's right next to the tracker jacker nest. I almost fall when I reach out and pull her away. A sharp stinging hits my arm and right under my left eye, then following in my thigh. I moan in pain as the venom starts flowing in my blood, and Gale accidentally choking me isn't helping.

"Haymitch?" says Prim dazedly. "I don't feel good." Her lower lip trembles as I hold her against my chest with one arm, leaving me climbing down one-handed. Oh, no, she's going to cry again. Her chubby cheeks are soaked in tears.

"I know," I mutter as I climb down. "Believe me, I know. Don't cry, okay? I'm gonna get you out of here." But the tracker jackers have identified us, proving the tracker part of their name. Climbing one-armed, lugging two children, and filled with tracker jacker venom, it's almost impossible not to fall. I'm not balanced. Then I make my worst mistake when I lean up against the tree trunk for balance, almost to the bottom. The tracker jackers swarm around me, mostly by my face. One stings, and I yell in pain. I can't see through the cloud. Then I fall.

Prim and Gale are shrieking. Luckily for Gale, I land on my stomach, so he isn't crushed by my body, although he's choking me by grabbing into my neck. Unfortunately, I fall right on top of Prim. She squeals in pain. I'm almost unable to keep going, with all the stings. But I pry myself off of the ground and stagger to my feet. "Come on!" I yell dizzily, leaning against a different tree. "God damn it, come on!" Prim's semiconscious, and Gale is already on my back. I lean down and grab Prim, groaning at her weight.

Then I'm running, desperately trying to orient myself and get to the Victor's Village. It's too much. I run into trees on numerous occasions, and my vision's getting blurry. I run and run and run and run. I start to see things that aren't there. Black insects crawl up my body, and I almost drop Prim when I stop to swat at them. The clouds turn deep purple and start raining shiny red blood. I scream at myself to keep going, but it's harder and harder. Every branch reaches out to hit me, and every tree root grows over my feet and stops me from running. The fence is too far. Where the hell is the Meadow?

I finally reach the fence, Katniss's house only yards away. I run through the Meadow, staggering and moaning, and careen right into a tree in front of Katniss's house. I drag myself up the steps, carrying Gale and Prim. I'm crawling on my hands and knees, one-handed, since I'm carrying Prim. I get to my feet and pound on the door. Locked. Oh, damn it, they locked their door! I yell in frustration. The blood rain pounds down, turning the dirt into dark mud. I can't get in, so I pound the door until the lock smashes and the glass part shatters to pieces. It swings open invitingly, and I stagger in.

And that's when they hit. My nightmares come alive right in front of me.

* * *

Katniss's POV, first person

I hear a horrible banging, and then a crash. I spill my cup of tea all over the table. "Peeta!" I say, shocked. I almost choke on my cheese bun. We stand up quickly, running to the back door. "Where's Prim and Gale?" I yell to Peeta. He shrugs, wide-eyed, but then we see them. And Haymitch.

Haymitch has clearly been running for a while, panting hard and soaked in sweat. Gale is clinging to his neck, passed out. Prim is passed out on the floor. Haymitch collapses on the couch, and then I see the horrible stings. With ugly, barbed stingers. Gale has four, Prim has two, and Haymitch has at least five. Tracker jackers. Oh my God. Haymitch is conscious, but definitely hallucinating. He's bawling like a baby, tears streaming down his sweaty face.

"Haymitch?" says Peeta forcefully. "Haymitch, what the hell happened?"

Haymitch cries even harder, gasping for breath. "Maysilee," he blubbers. "Maysilee." I reach out and touch a sting below his eye, and he breaks into a fresh round of sobs so pitiful that it breaks my heart. My fingers come away bloody. He starts gagging, and Peeta gets a trash can just in time for him to vomit into it so hard that his already flushed face turns bright red. He's still crying as he falls back on the couch.

I force him to look at me. His eyes are wild and scared. "Haymitch!" I yell. "What _happened_?"

But then his sobs go silent, and he goes limp and unconscious, lying there, half-dead. And I realize one thing: Haymitch may have just saved Prim and Gale.


	10. Just Close Your Eyes (Part One)

**I made it to Chapter 10! I'm so happy that I have gotten this far. Thank you to all readers, the one and only favoriter, and reviewers for taking your time with this. Thanks to Deity (guest) and Guest for reviewing. I am sorry for the later-than-usual update, since I went to visit my grandparents and didn't have access to the internet. Anyway, keep in mind: Haymitch is hallucinating in this chapter. The whole thing. The hallucinations are actually his memories, some of which I made up or based off stuff in the books. I usually put dreams and hallucinations in italics, but it would kind of be hard on my (and probably your) eyes to read an entire chapter in italics. Also, this is very important: Since these memories/hallucinations are kind of long, I'm splitting up the hallucinations into separate chapters. There will be something around three chapters of Haymitch hallucinating. And this is NOT a boring part. Just letting you know. Thank you for sticking with this story!**

_Just Close Your Eyes (Hallucinations Part One)_

I hear the rough voice of the trader in the Hob speaking to me. I grip my younger brother's hand tight until he yelps in pain. "Ah, Haymitch Abernathy," the old man says. I nod, not meeting his eyes, and slap a handful of money down for a drink. "Only been back in the district for two days after all that time with the Games, and you're already needing a good drink. What'll you have?"

"Two bottles of the strongest stuff you've got," I tell him. I'm not sure what to say, with my brother around, since he insisted on coming with me. I just need to forget Maysilee and try to live the life that I'm lucky to still have. I need to forget the Games. In fact, the only reason that I'm still alive is my family and girlfriend, Heather. I've been thinking about suicide too much for my own good. The trader hands me the bottles, and I shove them into my bag.

"And who might you be?" the man asks kindly to my brother. "You sure look a lot like Haymitch here."

My brother grins his big, gap-toothed smile. He's only six, but I let him come to the Hob with me anyway. "I'm Haymitch's brother!" he says proudly, giving me a big hug. I attempt to return the smile and ruffle his hair, letting him hug me. "I live in the Victor's Village because Haymitch won the Hunger Games!"

"Yeah," I mutter, opening a bottle of liquor and drinking deeply. Whoa, it's really strong. I stumble against the wall dizzily. The drink tastes disgusting, almost like drinking liquid fire that tastes like trash, but I like the numbness that I feel coming. "Yeah, I sure did win the Games." I won them. I would almost rather have died. I liked the time with Maysilee. Loved it, even. But now she's gone, and so are the other forty-seven tributes.

The old man looks into my eyes. "I really am sorry about your ally," he says quietly, so my brother won't notice. Sorry. Usually, I have only ever gotten apologies for little things that happened in school, or because my father was blown to pieces when a coal mine exploded. But now, only on my second day back in the district, I'm getting apologies and pity.

All that I really want is to wake up and find that it was a nightmare.

I become steadily more intoxicated as I walk back to the Victor's Village. My little brother -ten years younger than me- ends up supporting me. I get too unsteady to stand up straight. Finally, when we're at the fork in the road that leads to the Seam, I just stop. I hand my bag to my brother. "Hey, look, can you take this back to the house?" I say in a slurred voice, leaning against a fence. I take my liquor bottles. "C'mon. I'll be at Heather's place if you need me." He nods and runs off. As soon as he's out of sight, I walk down the road to Heather's house.

I open the door without knocking, as usual. Heather's father works sixteen hours at the coal mines, and her mother died of starvation, so she's alone most of the time. She hears me and runs out to greet me, smiling. Her black hair is up in a ponytail and swishes when she walks. "Haymitch!" she says, embracing me. I cling tight to her, squeezing the air out of her lungs with my arms wrapped around her. She looks at me, and her smile fades a bit when she smells the liquor on me. But I just kiss her right on the lips, and let her taste the alcohol on my tongue. We're both gasping for air by now.

"Haymitch," she says softly, the tips of her fingers running over the side of my face, feeling the stubble on my chin. "What's wrong? You're sad." She kisses me lightly for a moment, standing on her tiptoes to reach my lips. "The Games are over, Haymitch. You're alive."

"Yeah," I say, looking into her eyes. The gray eyes that I know well. And even though there's a part of me that longs for the merchant girl who allied with me in the Games, I kiss Heather again. "I'm okay. As long as I've got you, that is." She laughs, and I embrace her even harder. "Hey, your father ain't comin' home till midnight, right?" She nods. It's only about nine o'clock right now. "Can I stay?"

She giggles. "Oh, don't even ask, Haymitch," she says. "You don't need to ask at all. I'll always let you." She walks into her bedroom, and I stagger after her, a little late.

I hug her, holding her body against mine. We kiss, and she starts to take off her clothes, but I stop her. "No, I'll do it," I say, sliding her shirt off her and pulling away her clothes. Then she strips me, and we're both naked. I can't stop looking at the bed out of the corner of my eyes, and she notices. But she looks oddly sad. "Look, Heather, what is it?" I ask. Then I remember Maysilee. I kissed her as her died. "If it's..." It's suddenly hard to say her name. "If it's Maysilee..."

"Yeah," Heather says, staring at me. "Looks like you were really allies, right?" A lump forms in my throat. I will not cry. I will not cry. "You fuck her any?"

"No," I say, swallowing hard. "I just... Look, Heather. I don't know what was wrong with me, kissing her." I think that I'm going to cry for telling these lies. "I love you, Heather. Not her. She was just an ally to me. I never slept with her."

She nods uneasily. "Okay," she says. And then she smiles, and I smile back with a wink and a very suggestive glance at her bed. So by the time that her father comes home, we've had sex several times. I can't stop. It's like I need to give myself pain to make myself feel better. Because it's like a stab in my soul every second. Because of Maysilee. I loved Maysilee. Oh, God, I still love Maysilee.

Then her father walks in to find me tangled up with Heather in her bed, both of us covered in a thin sheen of sweat and stark naked. Her father pulls me away from her and out of her, and I fall back on the bed as he slaps her. "Filthy slut!" he yells at his own daughter. "Getting that- that _victor_ to fuck you!" He says it like 'victor' is the worst swear word ever invented. I cringe. He turns toward me. "And you... you get the hell away from my daughter, and if I ever catch you fucking her again, you're not going to get away so easy!" He barely lets me put my clothes back on when he shoves me outside into the night. I'm still shirtless. I want to go back in and help, but I can't.

So I just run back home and try to remember exactly why I'm running.

I burst through the door, staggering into the front hall, waking up my mother and brother. I lean against the kitchen counter, panting. I try to make it up the stairs, but I get dizzy and fall hard with a crash. "Haymitch!" my mother says. She sees that I am drunk. She notices that I'm shirtless and sees the devastated expression on my face. She sees me and knows what I did. "Oh, sweetie, it's okay," she soothes as I start to cry. Huge sobs that wrack my body and make me choke for air.

"They're all dying!" I yell between sobs. "Everyone around me dies!"

She gets me calmed down a bit. "I know, baby. It's okay." She lifts me up and carries me to my bedroom, setting me down on the bed and sliding my shoes from my feet. Tucking me in like I'm younger than my little brother, even. She puts a hand to my forehead. "You've got a fever, honey," she says tenderly. She leaves to get a wet washcloth for my forehead. As soon as she's out of the room, my little brother comes in sleepily.

"Hi, Haymitch," he says, rubbing his eyes. I just look up at him and try not to think about the chances of my throwing up right now. He yawns sleepily, his big gray eyes very sincere. "You look sick. Are you sick?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm definitely sick," I mutter, my stomach churning violently. "Listen, you should go back to bed and get some rest. I- I think I'm gonna-" Then I lean forward and vomit onto my lap repeatedly, the foul stuff trickling onto my legs and soaking through the covers. My mother comes in hurriedly and hands me a trash can. I throw up into the trash while my mother rubs my back gently. Then I just collapse back on my bed, kicking off the vomit-soaked blankets. I'm in serious danger of crying. I can even feel the tears welling in my eyes.

My mother comes back again after making my brother go back to bed and replaces my dirty blankets with clean ones, tucking me in again and setting the wet cloth on my forehead. A drop of water trickles down into my hair. She hands me a glass of ice water, and I drink it all, trying to wash the taste of vomit from my mouth. Damn it, the liquor tasted bad going down, but it tastes even worse when it comes back up. I set down the empty glass and roll over in bed with a groan, closing my eyes. "I don't feel good, Mom," I say quietly, my voice trembling in a whimper. Tears pool in my eyes. This is bad. I never call my mother Mom. I never call her anything at all. But now I'm here, crying like a little child.

My mother kisses me on the cheek. "It's going to be okay, Haymitch," she says comfortingly. I try not to cry. "It's going to be okay. Just get some sleep. You'll feel better in the morning." I nod weakly.

I hear my brother's high-pitched little voice from downstairs. "Mommy, there's someone at the door!" he calls.

Mom sighs. "I've got to go, Haymitch," she says softly. I make a soft sound of protest. "Just go to sleep. I'll be back in a minute, I promise." She stands up to leave, almost walking away.

I know I'll never forgive myself for doing something so stupid later, but I grab her hand. "Please don't go," I whisper, my eyes spilling over with tears.

She smiles wistfully and squeezes my hand. "Oh, Haymitch," she says. "I'll be back in a minute. Just close your eyes." And as she walks away, out the door, I hear her say, "I love you, sweetheart."

"I love you too, Mom," I say softly into the darkness. And I hope that she hears me.

Then I hear the gunshots. The first is accompanied by a childish scream. One gunshot for my brother. I sit up, moving the blankets aside and standing quickly. I open the door and watch it happen. The Peacekeeper's gun firing, and... and my mother drops to the ground, dead.

"No!" I howl, tripping unsteadily down the stairs, sobbing. "Mom!" But she's dead, and so is my brother. And for one second, the Peacekeeper sees me. Drunk and crying. And he starts laughing and leaves my house with the two corpses on the floor.

So that's how Haymitch Abernathy, victor of the fiftieth annual Hunger Games, ends up sobbing, drunk, and collapsed on the floor next to a pair of corpses, crying for his mommy.

* * *

June Everdeen's POV (first person)

I've spent hours and hours next to the couch, where Haymitch is passed out and hallucinating. He's soaked in sweat and writhing, almost falling off the couch. Then his beautiful gray eyes-what am I saying? Haymitch, beautiful?- open wide. A sob chokes his breathing. "No!" he howls, tears pouring down his face. "No! Damn you!" His face contorts as he starts crying like an infant. "No!"

I try to calm him down, but he keeps crying. For someone... I'm amazed. Haymitch Abernathy, the drunk victor, is crying for his mother. "Mommy!" he bawls, burying his face into a pillow and trembling. "Mommy." He sobs pitifully, so sadly that tears come to my eyes.

"It's okay, Haymitch," I say. But then he's back in the world of hallucinations, the tears still wet on his face. Poor Haymitch. So hurt that he's reduced to crying for his mother like a baby. So when I kiss him lightly, I taste the salty tears on his lips.

* * *

Haymitch's POV again

I run through the district, my clothes soaked in my family's blood. At first, I don't know where I'm going -the horrible sobs have stopped, so I guess I'd be accepted at a lot of places- but I find myself banging on Heather's door. I don't care about her father now. I just care that my family got shot dead by a Peacekeeper. And I know that it was because of my little game with the force field. My fault. I got my family killed. But before I can open the door, I smell the metallic blood.

Heather's father opens the door, and I walk in without being invited. "You!" he bellows, smashing me into the wall of boards and scrap metal, with a few rocks. The wall collapses, and I stagger. "You got my daughter killed, you bastard!"

"She's- she's dead?" I get out, my eyes widening. No. Oh, hell, no. No no no no no. "I... what... no..."

Her father points at the floor, and my stomach lurches. There's Heather, sprawled out on the floor face down, blood soaking her back. So thoroughly dead. Her black hair is loose over her back. I take a sharp breath. No. Not Heather, too. I didn't really love her as much as I loved Maysilee, but... Only minutes ago, I was fucking her. Oh, damn it, this can't be happening. "You got her killed!" her father yells, punching me hard in the face. A bruise is swelling around my eye. "It's your fault! Some Peacekeeper came in with a gun and shot her and said that it was because of something _you_ did!" I almost start crying again right then. "Get out of my house and stay out, victor!"

So I do. I run out of the house and run through the streets. When I'm almost to the Hob, the sobs hit again, and I gasp for breath, choking. I run into the Hob, to the stall of the old man that sells liquor. Damn it, I've got no money. I fall to the ground dizzily, sobbing my heart out. "They killed them!" I cry. Everyone stops talking.

The man selling liquor helps me up. I lean against the counter of his stand for balance. "Calm down, son," he says. He hands me a bottle of his strongest liquor. I open it with shaking hands and take a gulp, some of it dribbling down my chin. "What's wrong? Here." He pulls up a wooden and battered chair. A lot of the sellers, traders, and buyers crowd around, watching me. I'm still crying. I'm sobbing too hard to take another drink. "You could use a drink. Just try to tell us what's wrong."

"I... the Capitol killed my mother. And my brother. And my lover." I take a gulp of air, then a gulp of liquor. "Shot them. I... can I stay here for the night?"

The man nods. "Feel free," he says, his brow creased. "You can tell us more when you're up to it. Have as much drinks as you want." He gestures to his very large stock of alcohol. "Just calm down. You're all right."

And I drink away all the pain until I can't hold any more and I black out. But even as everything gets dark, I think of my mother's dead body lying on the floor.


	11. Sweetheart (Part Two)

**Here's the second part of the hallucinations! Sorry this took so long, I did a lot of editing on it. Just as a reminder, these are Haymitch's memories that I made up or based off events in the trilogy. There will be three parts of the hallucinations, so this is the second and second-to-last one, part two out of three. The hallucinations/memories are grouped into sections. The last one was about Haymitch's family and girlfriend being killed by the Capitol. This one is about Maysilee. Keep in mind, these are NOT in chronological order. Also, thanks to moonlight goose for reviewing! I really appreciate it. Enjoy the chapter!**

_Sweetheart (Hallucinations Part Two)_

I can't stop looking at Maysilee. Those blue eyes and blond hair are usually marks of a merchant's family member, so seeing someone like her almost always makes me hate them. But I can't stop myself. I can't help it. She's well fed, not marked by disease like many of the people in the Seam. _Oh, God damn it, stop it, Haymitch!_ my mind is screaming at me. _You've got a girlfriend back home!_ But I still stare at her. Even though we're both smeared with coal dust and riding a chariot through the Capitol. Whoever came up with the idea of riding in a chariot in front of the entire nation of Panem while wearing disgusting coal miner getup should go to hell. If they're not already there, that is.

Maysilee sees that I'm staring at her. She turns to look at me. "I know I look stupid," she says. "Don't rub it in. You do, too, by the way."

Ouch. That hurts like a stab wound to the heart. But can't she tell that I'm staring at her because she's so beautiful? Oh, well, I know that I look stupid. Maysilee is wearing very short black shorts and a black tank top, with her hair and skin smeared 'artistically' with fake coal dust. She looks like she's been rolling around in black dust and grinding it into her hair. The other girl tribute from Twelve looks even stupider than she does, since Maysilee's a merchant's child and is naturally pretty. At least, she is to me.

I look down at what I'm wearing and suppress a groan. I'm shirtless, wearing black shorts that are much too tight on me. Besides, my stylist dumped buckets of fake coal dust all over me, so much that I inhaled a clump and vomited it back up on my stylist's shoes. I sigh. My hair's covered in the dust, too. "I didn't- Look, Maysilee, it's not because you look stupid. I..." I suddenly become glad that my face is covered in coal dust, because my face feels hot, and I must be blushing.

"Save it," she snaps, looking straight ahead. Her voice stings me like I've been burned.

So I keep silent until the Opening Ceremonies have ended.

As our chaperone oohs and ahhs over our floor of the Training Center, I just ask where my room is and leave the other three tributes behind. I shut myself in the luxurious room, locking the door. I collapse on the bed, suddenly tired, not caring about how the covers get stained in black dust right away. Then I manage to get up, stripping off my 'coal miner' outfit and stumbling into the bathroom, turning on the shower. The water's scalding hot, and the air in the bathroom is steamy right away. Sweat's dripping off my face as I scrub away the black dust. I shut off the shower, drying myself with a towel. Strange, I smell a bit like roses. Oh, well.

After I'm dressed again, although unable to get the scent of roses off of my skin, the chaperone's calling to me, that it's dinnertime. I personally wouldn't give a fuck normally, but I have to admit that the Capitol's food is great. I unlock my door and go to the dining area, sitting down. No one says a word to me. Maysilee and the other tributes are talking in a friendly way. Shit. I fill a plate with so much food that it almost overflows. A few Avoxes come by silently, offering glasses of wine. "You got anything stronger than that?" I ask. The Avox nods just as my chaperone shrieks in horror.

The Avox gives me a bottle of something that's really strong. I take one sip, and I feel like someone's physically hit me. I feel like I'm swallowing pure fire. I've always wanted to try something alcoholic, and since I'm headed to my death, why not? After I go through the entire bottle, I notice that everyone's staring at me. I look up, setting down the bottle. "Hey, Maysilee, you should try some of this," I say, my voice louder than usual, even though she's sitting right next to me. "Then maybe you'd quit whining at everyone you see."

"Shut up," she says, not meeting my eyes. "At least I'm not stupid enough to get drunk right before the first day of training."

For some reason, that makes me furious. I stand up, my chair falling to the floor behind me with a crash. "Oh, so you think that you're going to be the victor, right?" I snarl.

She nods after a second. "Well, what else should I do? Plan on dying?"

I pull Maysilee out of her chair, holding her by the collar of her shirt, and punch her in the face as hard as I can. "Shut the fuck up!" I yell. Her hands reach up, cupping under her nose to catch the blood that is flowing steadily from it. "The odds aren't in your damn favor!"

For a second, she just looks up into my eyes. Then her eyes fill with tears, and she starts sobbing, her face smeared with blood, and runs off to her room. "I hate you, Haymitch!" she yells, just before she slams the door. "I hate you!"

My mentor -what's his name? I knew it earlier- stands up and grabs me, picking me up and throwing me over his shoulder easily. "All right, you're done," he says hatefully, throwing me down on my bed and locking the door. "You just broke the law, Abernathy," he says. "Stay in here and sober up." He starts to walk away. "Oh, and excuse me for leaving," he says sarcastically. "I just want to see exactly how badly you injured her."

He slams the door and leaves. I take a deep breath. I am not going to cry. I'm never going to let them see me cry. So I just sit around, ordering more and more liquor from the Capitol's technology, until I black out. The whole time, though, I hear Maysilee crying. And it's all my fault.

I made her cry.

* * *

I wake up under the hot arena sun, sweating. I feel something warm on me, and I'm about to kill whatever mutt's been gnawing on my arm this time, but I look up and see that it's just Maysilee. Maysilee. Her head is resting on my chest, with one of her slender hands on my shoulder. I feel my scowl relaxing, my face softening. Even though we're both dirty and sweaty and headed to our deaths, I love her. But I can't let anyone know at all, until one of us is dying. Her blond hair is tangled, but still spills across my chest and shines in the sunlight. Her face is much more peaceful when she's asleep. But I know that she wouldn't be happy, waking up to know that she's been cuddling with me all night. In front of all of Panem.

Luckily, Maysilee's a heavy sleeper, and I slide her off of me easily. A sort of sigh comes out of her mouth, and I grin. Oh, God, she looks so sweet when she's asleep. I want to kiss her over and over. But I can't. Damn these Games. I stand up carefully, walking out for a while into the thicker trees, but still staying oriented. I just hope that none of the Gamemakers are perverts who watch tributes piss behind trees, or I'm about to be the laughingstock of Panem. I yawn widely, still tired, and am about to unzip my pants when I hear a faint sound. My name. A female voice. _Maysilee._ "Haymitch!" she calls. I see her, yards away, looking around almost hysterically. "Haymitch!"

I step out from behind the tree. "Looking for me, sweetheart?" I ask, grinning cockily in her direction. I laugh at the surprise on her face. "Keep it down. You really must want the Careers to come and kill both of us, right?"

She runs through the trees and hugs me. I'm actually surprised for a second, but then I hug her back. She smells like fresh air and the wind in the trees. It takes all of my willpower to keep from just taking advantage of this and kissing her. But I just hold her tight to me. When she pulls back, I look into her eyes, so deep blue that it seems almost heartbreaking. I grin. "Whoa, Maysilee," I say. "What's wrong? It's _okay_."

She takes a shuddering breath, and for a second, I'm worried that she's going to cry. "I thought that you got killed," she says, still sounding a bit panicked. "Oh, God, Haymitch, at least tell me when you're going off somewhere and not just leave me. I thought..." She gasps for breath, burying her face in my shoulder. "I thought that you were going to leave me for good!" she gets out, then she starts crying. Sobbing. "I thought you were going to leave me to die!"

I tilt her head up. "Maysilee," I say. "Look at me. Please." Those wide, tear-filled blue eyes meet mine for just a second. "It's okay. The whole nation's watching." She's still crying, leaning on me. I squeeze her against me. "Maysilee, look, no need to cry every time I have to piss when you're still fast asleep. It's bad enough that the whole nation has to watch _that_."

She laughs oddly, even though she's still leaning on me. She pulls back, wiping her eyes. "I was just so scared," she says, tears spilling over onto her face. "I had a nightmare, and we were dead... I was dead... you were dead... I watched you die!" Her voice rises in a wail, and she falls back into my arms. "And I woke up and you were gone and I was so scared!" she sobs.

"Maysilee, it's okay," I say desperately. "Don't cry, you're making me feel like shit just because I left for a few minutes. You know you're going to look back on this and think that you're acting stupid now." Slowly, she calms down. Slowly. "Look, Maysilee, we aren't dead yet."

She stops crying after a bit and looks up at me. "I... the dream was so real, Haymitch," she says. I'm afraid she's going to go hysterical again, but then she continues. "I thought that I lost you."

"I'm right here," I say, grinning, but the smile's almost forced. Usually, I can make sarcasm out of thin air. "Now, unless you think it's worth watching, why don't you go while I finally can piss without getting interrupted?"

She snorts with laughter. "And why would I want to watch?" she says, giggling. "That's disgusting, Haymitch." As she leaves, she calls over her shoulder. "I'm going to be back where we slept."

"All right, sweetheart," I call, and when she fades out of sight, I whisper, "It's okay, Maysilee. I'm here." Even though she can't hear me, the audience will love it. Besides, it's comforting in a way to me. Telling me that my ally -oh, how I wish that it could be more than an alliance- will be all right. Safe and sound. Nothing can touch her when I'm here.

I look up to see a flock of birds flying overhead. I squint up at them, confused. They're mutts. Sure as hell, they've got to be mutts. Long, thin beaks made for stabbing, pink feathers that remind me of the candies back at the sweetshop in District Twelve. And they're flying fast. Like they're getting ready for something. Heading toward something. But they won't do anything to us right now, will they?

But when I look up, horrifying recognition fills me. My body's still behind this tree, in the present, but my mind speeds toward the future. I see myself walking away from Maysilee and not looking back... the bright pink birds stabbing Maysilee... And she's dying! Maysilee is _dying_! And now she's gone, and now I'm killing myself slowly, and now everything I care about is falling to pieces while I watch, and now they all die and I never get to say goodbye, and now I'm almost dead...

"NO!"

* * *

June Everdeen's POV, first person

I wake up at six in the morning to the sound of horrible sobs. I've barely been back awake, since Katniss -I love her, but she can be a pain- had morning sickness and couldn't stop throwing up, and Peeta slept through it all. I almost groan as I roll out of bed, rubbing my eyes, but then I remember. Haymitch. He's woken up again. And, as usual for when he comes out of a hallucination, he's sobbing his heart out.

I trudge into the living room sleepily to see Haymitch screaming and crying at the same time. "NO! NO!" he bawls, tossing and turning from his position on the couch. His eyes are wild. "MAYSILEE!" he yells. "DON'T GO! YOU'RE GONNA DIE! _MAYSILEE!_" With any luck, he's going to wake up Katniss and Peeta.

I carefully make my way closer to him. He's lying on his back, his eyes dilated strangely. I don't know why, but I find his eyes so beautiful. Sad, and the gray that marks most residents of the Seam. Almost like my husband's, except Haymitch's eyes are filled with hidden pain that almost makes me shiver. "It's okay," I say softly. "Haymitch, it's not real."

He closes his eyes, his body relaxing. I sigh in relief as he starts to slip back down into the world of hallucinations, pulling a blanket over him. But when my hand brushes up against his arm, he reaches out and grips my hand as hard as he can. "Maysilee," he murmurs. "Don't go, Maysilee. I love you, sweetheart." His words are slightly slurred, but they make a warmth start in my heart. Maysilee. I remember her so well. And, apparently, he does, too.

"I'm not going to leave," I tell him, letting him keep thinking that I'm Maysilee. Anything to keep him calm right now. And even as his grip slackens on my hand, and even as he blacks out again, I stay there with him, not sure what to tell Katniss and Peeta in the morning when they find me here. And I end up staying until morning comes, even though Haymitch has no idea that I'm here.


	12. We All Survive (Part Three)

**Hi! Sorry about not updating for longer than I planned. It's not easy to write four fanfics at once. I just figured that out the hard way! Attention: this is the last hallucination chapter. These hallucinations are NOT Haymitch's memories; they are just hallucinations of a lot of horrible things happening. Sorry if parts of this chapter are twisted and dark; I just listened to this really creepy song that gave me shivers. Repeatedly. So that's part of the reason for this. After this, the story will follow the genre of hurt/comfort more, and romance. But it will not be boring if it kills me!**

_We All Survive (Hallucinations Part Three)_

I squint at the tributes of the seventy-fourth annual Hunger Games again. I see them all as they ride through the streets on their Opening Ceremonies chariots, and a feeling of rage overcomes me. Cato, that bastard! I hate them. But Katniss and Peeta... they look stunning. On fire. Burning. Everyone's looking at them, the Capitol people... wait, I thought that the Capitol was over with. Oh, well. But then I see that something's wrong. They're screaming instead of holding hands. Screaming in pain.

The fire is real.

So I watch Katniss and Peeta, the star-crossed lovers of District Twelve, become lumps of charcoal right before my eyes. And I can't do anything about it.

* * *

"Maysilee?" I call through the forest of the arena. "Maysilee?" But she never answers. Never. Where is she? I start to get a sick feeling in my stomach. I see a flock of bright pink Capitol mutts fly above me, and I scream out of frustration. It isn't fair. She can't just be nowhere, can she? My eyes begin to well with tears. I'm usually not this emotional, but my entire self is consumed with a burning desire to find her. Wherever she is. "M-Maysilee..." I say, my voice trembling. I lean against a tree, closing my eyes for a moment. I'm so tired. Where is Maysilee?

But I have to keep going. I have to.

I somehow force myself to keep walking through the woods, calling her name. My throat goes hoarse from repeating her name over and over. I need water. I fall to the ground, so weak, but then I see her. Maysilee. Lying on the ground, her face twisted in agony. Her clothes are soaked in blood, and her skin is deathly pale. "Maysilee," I repeat, desperation entering my voice. I kneel next to her. "Maysilee, what happened?"

She shakes her head. "Nothing," she says, her voice breaking. "I won't die. I'm not going to die. I'm just going to... to stay like this. In pain. Forever. Unless..." Her beautiful blue eyes fill with tears. "Unless you kill me."

"_No_, Maysilee!" I say forcefully. But one of her sweaty hands slips into mine, along with an object. Something smooth and metal. Something sharp. A knife. Oh, God. My blood goes cold. She wants me to kill her. Put her out of her misery. I grip the knife, then her hand. "No," I say, but my voice cracks, and I find myself gasping for air. "No," I repeat again, a lump forming in my throat. I'm going to cry if I'm not careful. I feel my heart pound in my chest.

Her muscles tighten, her whole body going stiff. "Kill me, Haymitch!" she begs, squeezing my hand so hard that I hear something snap. Her body spasms in agony, her face torn with pain. Tears drip down her face. "Please!" Her voice is so horrible when she's in pain. I feel like I'm going to lose every bit of self-control that I have left and just start crying, too. Her eyes are bright with tears and filled with pain. "Haymitch. Please!"

It goes on for so long. So long, that I just sit here and watch helplessly. Sometimes, when she's filled with pain and being stabbed by invisible knives, I just start crying. Hours pass. No words, nothing but Maysilee's pained begging. Finally, during one of those awful moments when the pain overcomes her and her begging and crying brings tears to my own eyes, she just says it.

"Haymitch," she begs. Her voice trembles. "Haymitch... please."

"No!" I say, for what seems like the thousandth time. I wipe my eyes with my free hand, taking a deep breath. "I can't, Maysilee. I can't." My breathing is choked and gasping now. "I... I love you, Maysilee!" I finally burst out.

She looks up at me desperately, her lower lip trembling. "If you love me so much," she says softly, letting out a whimper of pain, "then kill me, Haymitch. Just kill me now." Her eyes beg me to stab her. No, what am I thinking? I can't kill Maysilee. Her free hand nudges the knife into my free hand. Her fingers brush against my skin, and even while shivers run up my back, I notice how cold her hand is. "Haymitch. If you love me so much, you'd put me out of my misery now." She looks right at me, but it's almost like she's looking through me, into my soul, searching my heart for any type of mercy. "Please, Haymitch," she says. "You know you would. You'd do it for me, right?"

My breathing is too fast and irregular. I think that I'm either about to vomit or start crying like a baby. My hands are sweating, slick. But before I think about it, my free hand moves toward the shining silver knife, and my fingers clasp around it. I wipe the blade clean on my shirt. "Right," I choke out, raising the knife. My hand's shaking. "H-how do you want to... to die?"

She shrugs, her fists clenched in pain. "Put the knife down," she says hoarsely. I obediently drop the knife, puzzled. She motions to her throat weakly. "Let go of my hand, Haymitch." I let go of her hand after a second of hesitation. "Now just put your hands around my neck. And squeeze as hard as you can." My stomach lurches, but I put my hands around her throat. Her skin is sweaty but cold, and very smooth under my fingers. I wish that I could just stroke her skin forever. But I can't. "I love you, too, Haymitch," she says quietly. "But get it over with."

I take a shaky breath. "I love you, Maysilee," I whisper. "I'm doing this for you." And then I squeeze her neck as hard as I can. Ignoring her cry of pain. Ignoring the horrible choking, retching noises that she's making. Ignoring the blood that she spits on my hands. Ignoring those big blue eyes, and then the light goes out of them.

I killed Maysilee.

* * *

June Everdeen's POV, first person

I'm in the kitchen at five in the morning, fixing a big breakfast for Katniss and Peeta as a surprise -they've been early risers ever since their Games-, when I hear the sound of strangled screams from the living room. I sigh, turning off the high-tech oven quickly and hurrying out to the living room. Of course, it's Haymitch again, crying into his pillow. And screaming at the same time. "Maysilee!" he sobs. "MAYSILEE!"

"Calm down," I say soothingly, even though he can't hear me. "Haymitch, shh. It's okay. It's almost over, Haymitch." Well, maybe I'm lying. I just hope it's almost over, because it's been five days, and he's still hallucinating. Gale and Prim made it, my sweet grandchildren. But Haymitch got stung five times. Katniss says that she isn't sure that he'll make it, since he's been out for five days. But Haymitch has been essentially poisoning himself for over thirty years, so I'm confident that he'll survive. If only he would just stop crying.

"Maysilee," he repeats, sounding like a little child about to cry. "Maysilee, don't go." It's almost like what he said two days ago. "Sweetheart, stay with me. Please stay with me, Maysilee. Don't leave me here." Then he starts sobbing his heart out. Loudly. In fact, he can probably be heard down the street. Katniss and Peeta are going to wake up.

"Shh, Haymitch," I say, brushing a strand of greasy hair away from his face. "Just go to sleep. It's almost over, Haymitch." But he keeps crying, and it worries me. Is he going to die? No, I can't even think that. "Shh. Just rest."

Then I start singing softly. The song that Katniss sang to Rue as she died. I've memorized every word now, the lullaby from District Twelve. I used to sing it to Katniss and Prim when they were much younger. And as I sing, he falls back into the hallucinations again.

_"Deep in the meadow, under the willow_

_A bed of grass, a soft green pillow_

_Lay down your head and close your sleepy eyes_

_And when again they open, the sun will rise_

_Here it's safe, here it's warm_

_Here the daisies guard you from every harm_

_Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true_

_Here is the place where I love you_

_Deep in the meadow, hidden far away_

_A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray_

_Forget your woes, and let your troubles lay_

_And when again it's morning, they'll wash away_

_Here it's safe, here it's warm_

_Here the daisies guard you from every harm_

_Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true_

_Here is the place where I love you."_

* * *

Haymitch's POV again

I run to the Hob as fast as my feet will take me. I need liquor, and I need it _now._ And when I say now, I mean at this exact second. I stumble in, staggering to Ripper's stall, slapping down a handful of money. "Can I have some liquor?" I plead, my head pounding. I hate withdrawal. She frowns and shakes her head. "Please."

"I'm all out," she says, shaking her head again. "Stay here and wait."

The whole time I'm waiting, I'm being tortured. Something's hammering at my head, and I feel so dizzy that I fall to the ground face first. I feel my blood spatter the floor, the life pouring out of me onto the ground for anyone to take. I'm so weak, unable to move. Oh, damn, I need a drink! I'm being cut to pieces by knives that aren't there. Being torn up by invisible creatures. Being killed over and over, but I never die. I just lie here and suffer and suffer. I'm crying. I'm crying. How can this be happening?

Then I look up and see the Peacekeepers. There're scores of them, at least forty. All with their guns aimed at me. Knives fly at me, and some of the Peacekeepers hold me down as others cut me up like a piece of meat. They shoot me. But I never die, never. I just lie here bleeding onto the ground, cut to pieces, unrecognizably mauled. My blood is everywhere. I'm dying... dying... dying. I can't see; there's too much blood in my eyes. I can't breathe, but I'm still alive. I have no feeling in me at all but pain.

And it never ends. So when I find a knife -a beautiful, sympathetic, wonderful silver knife- I don't hesitate to stab down as deep as I can into my heart.

Now I'm gone. Gone for good. But I can still feel an echo of the pain.

* * *

Katniss Everdeen's POV, first person

I wake up with no morning sickness today, and to the smell of my mother cooking breakfast. My face stretches into a grin of happiness. What could go wrong now? Except... my smile falters. Haymitch. He's still out cold in my living room, hallucinating. It's been almost five entire days since he staggered in with Prim and Gale. And I think that he saved their lives. I don't know why, maybe they just were all unlucky enough to get attacked by tracker jackers and run away for here. But the way that Haymitch was carrying them, and the way that he was far more beat up and stung than either of them... It makes me think that there's something that I don't know yet.

"Peeta," I say softly, rolling over onto my other side. "Peeta." I laugh. "Peeta, you're awake already, don't pretend to sleep some more."

Peeta opens his eyes, but doesn't laugh. "I couldn't sleep since around five o'clock this morning," he confesses with a shrug, sitting up and pulling me into a light embrace. My eyes question why. "Haymitch woke up for a bit again, and he was screaming and crying. Even Prim and Gale know when to shut up. But your mother..." He takes a deep breath. "Katniss, you remember the lullaby that you sang to Rue?" he says gently.

I close my eyes a second. The flowers. The sadness. The mockingjays. The spear in her stomach. "Yeah," I say, my stomach knotting painfully. "Why?"

"Katniss... your mother sang it to him," Peeta says quietly.

It takes a second for it to hit me. But then I realize. It would be laughable, usually, Haymitch crying all night and my mother singing a child's lullaby to him. But it's not funny. It suggests too much between my mother and Haymitch. Far too much. "You know that we're talking about Haymitch, right?" I say. "The bastard who raped me..."

Peeta nods. "Yeah," he says quietly. "Come on, Katniss, it looks like your mother's cooked breakfast." I nod after a second, a queasy feeling coming to me that is most definitely not morning sickness from my pregnancy. I follow Peeta into the kitchen, trying not to look into the living room at all. I concentrate on the smell of scrambled eggs and sausage and rolls. It almost reminds me of my time as a tribute in the Capitol. I sit down at the table, heaping a plate with food.

"Thanks, Mom, this is great," I say, smiling. My mother has her hair pulled away from her face, as she used to when handling patients or mixing herbal concoctions. But there are rather suggestive dark circles under her eyes, implying that she was up tonight. Up tonight... singing Rue's lullaby to Haymitch, of all damn people? I stab my fork into a link of sausage with excessive brutality.

"All for you two, honey," she says, smiling. "I can't let my pregnant daughter and her husband go hungry, now can I?" Peeta laughs and smiles, thanking her and digging into his food. My mother pulls up a chair and sits down, eating with us. Soon enough, Prim and Gale come in and eat more food than even me. We're laughing. Smiling. Telling jokes. We're happy, for once, and I savor the moment.

But then I hear a soft noise from the living room. Not a scream, not a sob. Just like someone taking a breath of fresh air for the first time in a while.

Haymitch.

We all stand up and go cautiously to the living room, even Prim and Gale. And there's Haymitch. Awake. No longer hallucinating. Sitting there, looking confused. When he sees us, a look of recognition passes over his face, and then I can see that he knows what happened. Knows about the horrible hallucinations. Knows about how he cried and cried and I had to cover my children's ears. Knows what happened to him.

But I guess that he remembers the hallucinations better than anything else, because he stands up weakly and runs out of the house as fast as he can, slamming the back door behind him.


	13. Faded to Gray

**Hey, people who still bother to read this story! Everyone... the hallucinations are over! (And to all of my readers from the U.S., I've reached a thousand views from you guys this month for ALL of my fanfics. So give yourselves a pat on the back!) Sorry for the lateness, since I've been busy with other fanfics. This chapter was inspired by two things: the amount of rain I've been getting, and (this is off-topic) the chorus of the rap song Stan by Eminem feat. Dido. I bet almost none of you even know that song. All right, that may be weird, but if you know the song, you might know what I mean after you read this chapter. And sadly for all you guys who like this story, I'm not planning on making it really long. I'll probably end it somewhere around twenty chapters. But I do plan on writing another fanfic about Haymitch.**

_Faded to Gray_

Thunder. That's the first thing I notice. And rain. It's pouring rain outside. I stagger out the back door into the rain, getting soaked after a few seconds. After what feels like days of lying on a couch in the Mellark house, it almost hurts to move. I slip on the wet ground, rain splashing around my feet. I somehow make it to my porch without falling over, and I go inside my house quickly, slamming the door shut. I go to my bedroom, staring out the broken window. It's raining so hard that all I can see is a blur of gray as rain drips down the broken glass. My breath fogs up the little of the window that's left. Good. I can't see anyone. Then again, I can't see anything. And maybe in this rain, no one will come for me.

The hallucinations. I remember every one. My stomach twists, and I start to realize exactly how hungry and thirsty I am. But it doesn't matter. My head's spinning now. Maysilee. I killed her, I watched her die, I hit her. And I saw my family die. I saw my lover's dead body on the ground. I felt myself die slowly, so slowly. I remember everything about the hallucinations. Even... I grip the windowsill. Even my own crying. I cried like a baby. I cried for my mommy. I cried for Maysilee. And I remember June's soft voice, singing the same lullaby that Katniss sang to Rue as she died.

I sit down on the end of my bed, examining the reddened, slightly swollen patches of skin where I was stung. Someone must have pulled out the stingers. I count them. Five stings. I should have died. I should be dead right now. And then I remember staggering into the Mellark house, carrying Prim and Gale, passing out... Oh, damn it! I should have let the little brats get stung to death by the tracker jackers. But I care about June, Peeta, the children, and even bitchy, pregnant Katniss. I care about them.

And why the hell haven't I noticed it before?

I stand up again, going back to the window. Even though it's still raining harder than ever, I have a strange desire to go somewhere. But I can't go right back to the Mellark's house, not after I ran out of there. Maybe I can just go to the Hob. It's funny. Usually, I'd be wanting a drinking and half-dead with withdrawal, but now, I don't feel like drinking anymore. I sigh and walk out of my bedroom, dragging my feet, going outside. I stop on the porch, staring out into the rain. It's dark out, almost like night.

I walk down the steps carefully, still unsteady from days of unconsciousness. Then I run out through the rain, orienting myself and heading to the Hob. I'm not planning on drinking; I just need some food and water. And I need to know how long I've been out. Once I've gone through what feels like the whole district, I get to the Hob, walking in. I'm soaked, glad to be out of the rain. Even though everyone stares at me, I calmly go up to Greasy Sae's stand. Good thing I've got a bit of money in my pocket. I slap some coins down on the counter. "A bowl of stew, if you've got any, and some water," I say.

Greasy Sae's staring at me, looking amazed. After a few seconds, she nods. "I thought you got killed," she says as she ladles out some gloppy stew into a wooden bowl, pouring grayish water into a cracked glass. She takes my money. "How many stings did you get, anyway? Someone said that you got six, but that's impossible."

I take the water after she accepts my money, draining the whole glass. "Five stings," I say. I set the glass down, taking the change that she offers me. "How long has it been, anyway? Feels like a while. I mean, I don't know how long I've been out."

Surprisingly, Greasy Sae laughs, scrubbing the empty glass in a bucket of rainwater that she probably collected this morning. "How long do _you_ think it was, hmm, Haymitch?" she says teasingly, smiling an almost-toothless grin. A clap of thunder sounds. "You must be pretty desperate to know, since you came out in this weather."

I think about it for a second. I wish it were only a few hours, but it feels like full days have gone by. And Katniss was out for two days in the seventy-fourth Hunger Games with three stings. "Three days?" I estimate, shrugging. "I don't know. A while, I guess."

Greasy Sae bursts into laughter. I scowl and start eating the stew. Normally, I'd probably throw it out -it's that disgusting-, but I'm starving. "Oh, Haymitch," she says. "It's been _five_ days." My heart skips a beat, and the stew churns in my stomach. Five days? Five whole days? How the hell did I pull through after five days of hallucinating? She sees the expression on my face. "You all right?"

"I'm fine," I say. The pitter-patter of the rain splashing down endlessly is like someone crying. I close my eyes for a second. Five days. Five days. Close to a week. I've lost five days of life now. Lightning flashes outside, soon followed by a crashing boom of thunder that causes the other people in the Hob to shriek in surprise. Then I remember something. "I'm sorry. For almost... you know." I almost said _for almost killing myself_. But I can't bring myself to say the words. "I know I'm a bastard, so don't even say it."

Greasy Sae grins and is about to say something, but I hear a squeal. "Haymitch!" her granddaughter, Emma, shrieks happily, giving me a big hug. "You're alive!" she chants. I swear, she's a teenager, but she acts like a five-year-old. Not that I'm complaining, since it's kind of sweet. "I thought you were a slave!"

I try not to laugh at that. "Um... a slave?" I say, biting back laughter. More like, _I was almost a corpse._ Not a slave.

"Yeah," she chirps, staring up into my eyes. Her own eyes are wide. "Me and Peeta found you in one of the rooms back _there_." She points at the old rooms that are frequented by the pricey prostitutes of District Twelve's little black market. I remember when I almost killed myself that day. "Grandma says that people sell themselves in there. So they're slaves!" She looks proud of herself for figuring this out.

It's harder to hold in my laughter, but I can't stop the smile that creeps onto my face. "Well..." I'm about to explain prostitution to Emma, but one look from her grandmother tells me that I'd better hold my tongue. "I wasn't selling myself. So I'm not a... slave."

She grins. "Good!" she says. "I like you," she proclaims. "You're my friend."

Before I can answer to that, I look up towards the door, hearing a voice that I recognize, and my blood goes cold. Katniss. _That little bitch!_ I think venomously. And there's Peeta. They must have left June at home to take care of their little bastards. They probably came to yell at me for something. I wish I could leave, but no, they see me. Katniss stomps over. "Haymitch!" she yells. "How much have you had to drink yet?"

I scowl. "Nothing yet, sweetheart," I say. "I didn't really feel like drinking until you came." I look at Ripper. "Hey, Ripper, can I have some liquor?"

Katniss is already protesting, but Ripper beats her to it. "Sorry, Haymitch," she says apologetically. "I'm not going to let you poison yourself anymore. Besides, Plutarch wants to ship me off to District One if I keep up selling to you."

I swear under my breath in frustration. "Look, sweetheart, what the hell is it now?" I snarl at Katniss furiously. "It isn't enough that I saved your little brats from getting stung to death by tracker jackers, hmm?"

For a second, Katniss falters, and I have a glimpse of the broken girl who I knew back from District Thirteen. "How was I supposed to know that?" she says, and then it's gone. "Haymitch, you were hallucinating for five days. And my family took care of you the whole time." That hits me like a slap in the face. Her family? They shouldn't have. I raped Katniss and almost killed Prim. But I try not to let my feelings show. "The whole time, Haymitch!" Katniss continues obliviously. "The entire five days. Even though you cried like a little baby and were a complete pain in the ass for all of us. Even though you raped me and almost killed Pr- my daughter!" I see tears shining in her eyes.

"Damn, sweetheart, no need to get all teary just 'cause you named your daughter after that little bitch who got blown to pieces," I say. "Oh, I meant, your sister."

Katniss looks like she's about to cry for a second, and I almost feel like taking back what I said, but then she raises a fist and punches me in the face. I feel blood spurt out of my nose. "You - do - not - SAY THAT!" Katniss screams in my face. Damn it, _someone's_ pissed. I wipe the blood from my nose, but there's more dripping out at a rather alarming rate. "DON'T SAY THAT EVER AGAIN!" She backs me up against the wall and pulls my head back by my hair. With her free hand, she pummels me, punching over and over. "If you say that again, I swear I'll kill you!"

I pretend to act like she's hurting me for a few seconds, but then I grab her and throw her to the ground. I smirk. Looks like she's forgotten that I was a victor, too. She's crying now, struggling to get back up. "Not yet, sweetheart," I growl. "You don't just get away with that." And I hit her and kick her. Even though she puts up quite the struggle, she can't do anything.

Peeta runs over. I expect him to be furious, but I have almost never seen Peeta lose his temper. That is, except for the times when he was hijacked. Instead, right now, he's calm. "Okay, Haymitch, you're leaving," he says. His eyes are cold. "Go back to your house. And if you ever hit my wife again, you're going to regret it." I start to protest, but Peeta shoves me toward the door. All eyes are on me. "Go. And don't bother saying anything. Just go."

And as I leave, stepping out into the pounding rain, I see Peeta helping Katniss up and comforting her.

Something about this makes my blood go cold. Colder than the rain. Almost frozen. I'm soaked to the bone. And I run back home. I don't care anymore. I don't care about the rain soaking my body. I don't care about the bolts of lightning and the booming thunder that vibrates the ground. I don't care that I don't know where I'm going. I don't care that all I see is gray. I... don't... care.

I slam my door, running inside into my bedroom. I'm so cold. I start to shiver, but I don't care. I just keep staring out of my broken bedroom window. Thinking about what just happened. My stomach churns, and I feel sick. The blood from my nose drips down over my lips, staining my skin and clothes. I stare into the gray dimness, thinking. Why did I even try to forgive them and myself? Why? What was the point of even waking up from the hallucinations, anyway?

And I try to think of the people who I care or cared about, searching myself for any kind of regret. I try. But even love is tainted for me.


	14. No Apologies

**Hey, people who actually read this story! I'm back, after the end of my school year, an almost 4-hour power outage, 80 mile per hour winds, and a tornado warning. Yeah, I had an interesting few days... Anyway, many, many thanks to moonlight goose and Anarchy Girl for reviewing. (As far as I know, Anarchy Girl was the only one who knew the song Stan by Eminem that I mentioned inspired me. She's a big fan of Eminem. And it rubs off on me, thanks to my dear sister *coughAnarchyGirlcough*.) Anyway... yeah, I know that Haymitch is a jerk. Wow, I really have managed to beat up Katniss a lot in this fanfic. And I'm probably going to have somewhere around three more chapters, including an epilogue, and then this fanfic will be done with.**

_No Apologies_

I start wanting a drink around the time that the blood from my nose stops following and dries on my face. I don't know how much time has passed, only that it's still raining. And that I still don't know how I feel. Maybe I deserved what I got from Katniss. After all, I'm only the former drunk that raped her, threw her down, and beat her. And it was my fault. When in hell am I going to learn to keep my fucking mouth shut?

And now June's going to be pissed at me. Somehow, she could overlook the fact that I raped her daughter. But now that I did this, beat her in front of everyone in the Hob... And she's pregnant. For all my luck, she's going to lose that bastard kid that she's carrying right now, and it'll be my fault. I was so close. I always get close to caring about them again and healing myself, but then I drop down even farther into pain and hate. They hate me now. Even Peeta, who is usually very forgiving. I remember his icy cold blue eyes as he commanded me to leave. The hate in his eyes was unmistakable.

So I let the time pass. I let the nights and days fade away, each one even more meaningless than the one that came before. I let the time pass without really caring. Someone leaves food for me, I think one of the traders from the Hob who actually gives a shit. All I really know is that when I wake up every morning, there's food on my table. I keep myself alive and nothing more. I never speak a single word. I cross off the days that pass on a calender. A month goes by. Then two months. Then three months.

For all of the three months, I keep the shades pulled on my windows. I keep every light in the house turned off. I never go outside. I eat and drink enough to keep me alive. I never wash myself or shave. I never look out my broken bedroom window. I lock my door, but it's worthless. The trader from the Hob who brings me food is the only person who has even visited my wreck of a house. I become a disgusting wreck. No one would even notice if I was dead or alive by now. In fact, I am dead. Dead to the world.

And all that it takes is three months of isolation.

On day seven of the third month, someone knocks on my door. The sound is so unreal, so foreign to me, that I barely remember what it means. Someone. Outside my house. Knocking on my door. Wanting to come inside. My rusty mind processes this slowly, and I stagger to the door. My fingers fumble with the latch, and then the door swings open.

Oh, shit, the sunlight burns into my eyes! The air is so chilly, even though it's only mid-September. The sky is so bright blue. I have to close my eyes, since the brightness actually hurts. I step back into the house, my face twisting up in pain. I squint as the person who came steps inside and shuts the door. And I have to remind myself to breathe. June Everdeen. She came here. She turns on the light and sits down at the kitchen table. "Haymitch," she says.

I sit, trying not to squint. I haven't spoken a single word in more than three months, so I can't speak. I don't know what to say. My lips form her name, but no sound comes out. I cough. "June," I say hoarsely. I'm not used to hearing any voices, much less my own. "Why are you here?"

Her brow is creased in concern. "Haymitch, you're a wreck," she says. "You've got to stop moping and start living for once." But the way that she says it is far from harsh. Almost tender. I feel a stab of guilt for shutting out the world now. Three months of wasted time.

"Is..." I don't know what to say now. Then I remember. Katniss. I hurt Katniss. "Is Katniss okay?" Oh, God, I hope that I didn't hurt her or her baby. If I did, I'm never going to forgive myself.

Fortunately, June nods. I feel a rush of relief. "Katniss and the baby are fine," she says. She eyes me closely. "I hope that you're sorry, Haymitch. You know that you should be."

I bite my lip, not meeting her eyes. "No apologies," I say, trying hard to swallow the lump that is building in my throat. "No apologies. Just makes me feel worse. Apologies are bullshit."

"Haymitch," June says threateningly. Her eyes demand an apology. "I don't care if you hate apologies. Just tell me... are you even sorry for what you did?" Her blue eyes are piercing. Just like Maysilee's when she was mad at me. "Because you'd better be."

I take a deep breath. "I'm sorry," I manage to say, praying desperately that I don't sound like I'm about to cry. Because I _am_ about to cry, and for the first time in three months, at that. "I'm sorry, all right?" I repeat. She doesn't look like she believes me. That's what really hurts. Because I mean it. I really mean it. I'd feel even worse about myself if I had somehow hurt Katniss or her unborn child. "I'm sorry!" I snarl. "Damn it, you _bitch_!" And then I really start crying, sobs somehow coming out of me. I stand up quickly and stumble to my room, flopping face down on my bed, burying my face in a pillow.

I feel June's hands on me. "Shh, Haymitch," she says. "I didn't mean to make you think that you were lying. It's okay." When I've calmed down, which takes a while, I roll over to face her. "Oh, Haymitch, you're a wreck," she says, laughing lightly. "How long has it been since you've slept?" Well, I guess that means that she's noticed the dark circles under my eyes.

"A few days," I mumble. I start to realize how tired I am.

She sighs. "Get up," she says gently. "I'll clean you up, and then you can get some rest, okay?" I nod weakly, my eyelids drooping shut.

She somehow helps me up and guides me to the bathroom, shutting the door. I can barely stand up. She strips me down quickly, going off to get some clean clothes for me while the bathtub fills up with water. Then she scrubs the dirt from my body after I climb into the tub. I remember hazily how squeamish Katniss was of nudity in her first Hunger Games. She definitely didn't inherit it from June. Katniss's mother is a healer down to her bones. Years of tending to the ill have made her tolerant. And frankly, I don't care that she's seeing me naked. She scrubs every bit of my body with a wet, soapy cloth, not hesitating. The warm water makes the cracked mirror get fogged up with steam. I feel like I could fall asleep right here, with June's gentle hands washing me and the warm water around me.

Right after I put some clean clothes on, I collapse into my bed. June tucks me in like I'm a small child, and I'm reminded achingly of my mother. "June?" I say sleepily, my eyes closing. I'm almost asleep. And I can't remember the last time that I felt so safe. "You still here?"

"Yes," she says patiently, sitting next to me. I open my eyes a bit, just enough to see her. "What is it, Haymitch?"

I can't stop the words that build inside of me. "Please don't go," I say.

A smile lights up her face, and for a second, she looks so much younger than she is. "I wasn't going to," she says, laying down next to me and cuddling up against me. And I hold her close to me as I fall asleep.

**Author's Note again:**

**Okay, that was my shortest chapter yet, but I tried to make it sweet. By the way, in case the three months that passed threw any of you guys off, Katniss is now seven months and one week pregnant. In case there is anyone out their trying to keep that straight. It even confused me. Thanks for sticking with this story!**


	15. I'm Sorry, Sweetheart

**Hello, people who are crazy enough to keep reading this! Thanks to Anarchy Girl, who informed me in a very hyper-sounding review that my last chapter title (No Apologies) is the title of a song by Eminem. And yes, I have the right to say this, since she's my twin sister and I know perfectly well that she knows around fifty songs by Eminem. All right, off topic... but since I mentioned the song Stan in my last two chapters, I felt like I needed to put that. And since she was my only reviewer. ATTENTION: I will have one more chapter after this and an epilogue, and then this story will be over. :'( My first ever completed fanfic will be this one! If you like my writing, I'd recommend my other major story, A Deadly Spark. It's going to be a series. Also, I've got an idea for a short story, so look out for that one once this is finished! Anyway...**

_I'm Sorry, Sweetheart_

I wake up to someone's quiet breathing next to me. My eyes slowly open, almost tentative to wake up. I swear, I just had this dream that everything was all right again, and that I wasn't going to die and rot away... Then I roll over and see June Everdeen sleeping curled up next to me, pressed against me for warmth. My face grows hot with embarrassment. Was I drunk? No, I haven't been drunk for a long time, and there's not the slightest hint of a hangover. So I remember dimly what happened yesterday. June knocking on my door, coming in, washing me, sleeping next to me. It has to be real. I feel cleaner than I have in more than three months. My face is clean-shaven now. I'm wearing clean clothes. I feel so different.

I study June's face. There's a few wrinkles etched into it, especially at the corners of her eyes from smiling. Her blond hair is streaked with gray. And, oh God, her long eyelashes, with her eyes closed, are almost tantalizing to me. My eyes trace down the curve of her nose to her perfect, closed lips. Her face is weary, but beautiful to me. _Oh, get your fucking mind to shut up, Haymitch!_ I'm screaming at myself inwardly. _You're way too old for this._ And it may be true. But I still think that she's beautiful. At least, she is to me.

A twisted part of me is insanely happy that the mine explosion killed her husband.

Her eyes flicker open, almost startling me. For a second, I'm in some kind of state of rapture when I look into her eyes. All right, there must be something very wrong with me. "Haymitch," she murmurs. "You're awake. You okay?"

I glance at the broken window. The sky is pitch black. "Go back to sleep, sweetheart," I say sleepily, managing a faint smile. "I just woke up and couldn't fall back asleep." I shiver suddenly. The broken and open window lets in cold air.

June moves closer to me. "You're cold," she says quietly, pressing against me, cuddling up against me with her hands on my back. I embrace her, holding her close, barely thinking about the implications of what we're doing. Her body is surprisingly strong for a woman her age, and we're both cold. But together, we're warmer. I hold her shivering body against mine until we're both warmer. I pull the covers closer around us, letting go of her.

"No," she says, pressing against my body so hard that it takes me a moment to catch my breath. "I like that."

A rush of warmth floods over me, and suddenly, I don't feel cold anymore. I wrap my arms around her, holding her tight. Not letting go. Not stopping. Just thinking about what's true. I love her. Oh, God, I'm in love with Katniss's mother. But I'm happy about it, no matter how strange it seems. It may seem crazy, but I love her. And maybe I don't really have a reason to be depressed anymore.

* * *

I wake up in the morning to bright sunlight streaming in the window. It's deceptive, since it's still freezing out. I feel suddenly cold and realize that June's not in my bed anymore. I pull the covers tighter around me, shivering. I'm so damn cold without her. I can hardly get out of bed, but I manage to get up after a few minutes of shivering. I stagger out of bed, sitting down at the kitchen table before I realize that I'm not alone.

"Morning, Haymitch," June says, sitting across from me. Oh... I feel myself weaken when I look into her beautiful blue eyes. It reminds me of Maysilee. But thinking about Maysilee doesn't give me that familiar stab of pain anymore. I just remember why I'm alive. The victor. I'm a victor. So I can survive anything, right? And I've still got Katniss. I still have Peeta. They have their children and each other. And I have June.

I'm tongue-tied for a second. I feel like I did when I first saw Maysilee when we were in school before we were reaped together. I almost laugh when I remember that the first words that she said to me were, "Move it, you're in my way" when we were in the school hallways. I think that I said something really intelligent, like, "Sure." That's how I feel right now. Almost like I can't say anything good enough. Fuck, how come Peeta can always think of the perfect responses to anything and I can't?

"Morning," I say, trying not to look away from her. I can barely look into her eyes without feeling like I'm going to tell her everything that I'm thinking. "Why are you still here?" It sounds stupid as soon as I say it. Like I want her to go, but I don't. I want her to _stay_. And like I hate her, when I really love her. "I mean... I..." I'm completely tongue-tied again.

June laughs. "I'm still here because..." Her voice trails off, and she smiles. "I'm still here because I love you, Haymitch," she says.

For a second, I feel like I'm paralyzed. She... she loves me? Oh my God... she actually loves me! I feel a giddy rush of happiness, and as soon as my legs aren't weak anymore, I stand up and hug her, squeezing her as hard as I can. "Y-you love me?" I say, barely daring to believe it.

"Of course I do," she says, smiling like a person much younger than she is. Her blue eyes sparkle. "I love you, Haymitch. I told you-"

"But I raped your daughter and almost killed your grandchildren and.." I say, almost unsure. "You _shouldn't_ love me."

"Haymitch," she says. "Do yourself a favor and don't say that. That's the past, Haymitch, and-"

I interrupt her by kissing her right on the lips. I can't believe I'm doing this. But I am. I love her. I love her so fucking much, and I can't hide it anymore. I feel like I did the time when I first kissed my girlfriend. I almost don't know what to do. But my mouth presses against hers, and she's kissing me back. I don't care that I'm unable to breath, losing air quickly. I don't care anymore. I just love her that much.

Finally, I need to catch my breath, and I pull away from her, almost dizzy from lack of oxygen. "I love you too," I say breathlessly, gasping for air. And I actually smile.

June's smiling. "I know," she says. "You want to go over to Katniss and Peeta's house? They're not that mad at you anymore." I think about it for a second. Usually, I'd protest, but I'll admit that I know that they probably think I'm dead. Either they're pissed at me, or they're worried about me. So I agree.

June knocks on their door. I'm already having some second thoughts about visiting them, but what the hell, I can't do anything about it now. I wipe my sweating palms on my pants and try not to think about how pissed Katniss probably is at me. At least June says that her and her unborn child are all right. But it's not Katniss who answers the door, but little Primrose. Primrose Madge Mellark. And her little brother, Gale. Gale Finnick Mellark. I wonder what they're going to name their newest child.

"Hi, Grandma!" squeals Prim happily, giving June a big hug. June ruffles the little girl's dark hair. Then Prim frowns and looks up, a childish pout on her face. "Haymitch?" she says. "Mommy said that you were gone."

"I'm not gone," I say. 'Mommy' must have said _gone_, but meant that she thought I was dead. Or maybe that I was as good as dead. Or maybe that she wants me dead. Whatever it is, I'm still here. Not gone yet. "Can we come in, Prim?" She looks up at me for a second -how did I forget that she has Peeta's eyes?- and moves aside after a second of reluctance.

Katniss and Peeta are sitting at the table, eating breakfast and talking to each other. June goes right inside, but I hesitate on the doorstep, just watching them. Peeta has dark circles under his eyes, like he hasn't been sleeping. Katniss's stomach is huge with her pregnancy... seven months, right? I guess she'll have the kid in about two months, then. It seems like such a long time since I've seen her. "Hello," June says warmly, smiling. "How are you feeling, Katniss?"

"Fine," says Katniss, shoveling down some rolls that Peeta probably made. It's kind of funny to see how she eats so much. Then she frowns, swallowing. "How come you were gone last night, Mom?" She takes a sip of water before June can answer. Then she looks up and sees me, standing in the doorway, and almost chokes, setting her glass down. "Holy shit!" she says.

_"Katniss,"_ warns Peeta, glancing at little Prim and Gale. Then he sees me. "Haymitch... what the... I thought you were dead."

I shrug. "Well, _I_ thought I was dead, too," I say. The look on their faces is priceless.

"It's been more than three months!" Katniss says indignantly. "Three months, Haymitch! I thought you killed yourself! What do you have to say to that?"

I take a deep breath, trying not to back down. I can't. And I know that I didn't mean what I said and did back then. "I have to say that I'm _sorry_, sweetheart," I say. "Is that enough for you?"


	16. I Love You

**Hello! This is the last non-epilogue chapter of Broken Glass. I promise that it'll be good. Short but sweet! I'm going to have the epilogue posted soon, and then after that I'm putting up a new story and continuing A Deadly Spark. If you're curious, my new story will be called This Is Prim. But it is NOT about Prim. But you didn't come here to hear me blabber on, so here's the chapter! Also, I would really like some more reviews before this story's over with... ;)**

_I Love You_

For a second, Katniss just sits there, the picture of shock and surprise. Her eyes get wide. Peeta, who was raising his fork to his mouth, drops the fork, where it clatters against his plate. Prim and Gale are just standing there next to June, looking almost as surprised as their parents. I start thinking about a thousand thoughts at the same time, all simultaneously. _What the hell...? Maybe I shouldn't have said it quite like that... Maybe I should just run off and pretend I didn't apologize... Maybe I should just block out the world again for another three months or more... Maybe... Oh, fuck those first few thoughts... I should just take it back... But I've got to... I'm a victor... the victor..._

My head's spinning. Damn, I'm confusing myself now.

"Yeah," says Katniss. I'm pretty surprised myself when I hear her voice squeak like she's about to cry. "That's good enough for me." She stands up, not bothering to push in her chair, and gives me a big hug. All right, that's really surprising, but I hug her back. I'm careful, though. Almost like I'm afraid to hurt her, since I've already damaged her so much. Almost like I'm trying to make up for what I've done.

Finally, Katniss looks up into my eyes. It's almost embarrassing to admit it, but I've almost missed looking into hers. She's almost like a daughter to me. "You know, I really missed you," says Katniss with a sniffle. All right, she's a little overemotional right now, but I feel like my heart's melting in sweet sadness. "I miss your sarcasm... God, I even missed the way you call me sweetheart!" She's half-crying, half-laughing. "Don't ever do that again, Haymitch. Please don't."

"I won't," I promise.

Then Peeta stands up, too, after Katniss detaches herself from me, still wiping her eyes. "I'm glad that you're alive," says Peeta with a smile. I'm inwardly relieved that he isn't all overemotional like Katniss. Well, I guess it's just her hormones. Peeta glances at the two children for a second, and then June. "Did it take any convincing, Haymitch?" he says in a lower voice.

I have a feeling I know exactly what 'convincing' means. So I just shrug. "Yeah, some, I guess," I say. _But barely any._ I just don't bother to say that last part. I think Peeta knows what I mean by convincing, too. Yeah. Convincing. I'm very convinced. That is, I'm convinced if 'convinced' is a synonym for 'in love'.

* * *

We stay to eat breakfast with Katniss and Peeta. It's kind of strange -okay, _really_ strange- to be here, of all places. It's almost like I barely woke up from those hallucinations months ago, and I'm just starting over. Skipping the painful months. Katniss, of course, eats about twice as much as the rest of us. Peeta seems a bit wary at first, and then acts much more comfortable having me around. The little kids are happy, although a little confused. And I don't blame them. Actually, I'm confused, too. This is almost like some twisted, crazy nightmare. Maybe I'm sleeping, and I'll wake up somewhere else in a perfect place. Perfect.

But I like everything how it is now. Actually, fuck that. I _don't_ want everything to be perfect. For now, I like the way that everything's going. Sure, it may have a lot of mistakes. And countless flaws. But I like it the way it is, with all of its imperfections.

After all, perfection reminds me too much of the Capitol. And now we're free.

* * *

I go back to my house, excusing myself from breakfast earlier than anyone else. I don't know what to say. I just mumble a few weak goodbyes and leave. I shut the door behind me, careful not to slam it. The air is still cold. It's almost like the cold is shocking my brain into thinking straight. Maybe what I did was right. Maybe what I did was wrong. But I did it, and there's no way I can take that back.

Actually, maybe I'm okay with apologizing. But it's still a pain in the ass.

I open the door to my house, letting it slam behind me. I don't bother locking it anymore. My feet crunch on the broken glass that is almost like a carpet on my floor. I go straight to my bedroom, suddenly tired. What did I just do? What have I been doing to myself, anyway? I'm so confused now. I sit down on my bed, rubbing my temples. I think I'm getting a headache. Damn it, I'll be glad when all of this is over.

I hear a knock on my door and groan quietly. Probably it's Katniss, full of either bitchiness or spontaneous sobbing. "Come in," I tell whoever it is, my head spinning. I swear, my fucking _heartbeat_ hurts with all the stupid thoughts that are running through my fucked-up head.

June walks into the room, and for a second, I just find myself doing nothing but staring at her. Why? Why the hell am I just staring at her? But in that moment that passes, I realize something. I really do love her. I'm just like I was when I was young. No drinking, I've healed myself now. Wounds can be reopened. But scars are only painful memories. And all of my wounds have turned into scars. "Hey, sweetheart," I say, standing up.

"Hi, Haymitch," she says. I can't help it. I just embrace her as hard as I can. I can't stop myself now. One of my hands rests on her back, holding her to me, and the other runs through her hair. I feel a rush take me, like I'm getting swept away into the ocean. Farther from shore. But I like this feeling. After a minute or so, I kiss her right on the lips. And she's kissing me back. I love it. I love her. I feel like nothing can take me down now.

I have to catch my breath, though. And when we break apart, we're both smiling. June's eyes are bright. "You know, I was thinking about going back to District Four," she says. My stomach drops. She's going back to District Four? She sees the expression on my face and smiles. "I said that I _was,_ Haymitch," she says. "Before now. I'm going to stay here in Twelve."

I smile back, feeling relieved after a second of panic. "Where're you staying?" I ask. "With Katniss and Peeta?"

She laughs. "No," she says, beaming. "Is it... I..." She blushes. "I want to stay with _you_, Haymitch."

I smile. Suddenly, I feel like I'm never going to feel any pain again. Like I can go back to what I was before. "And I want you to stay with me," I say. "I _love_ you, June."

_And I swear I'll never go back to the way I was before._


	17. Epilogue

**Hey! Here's the epilogue and the final chapter of Broken Glass. I really liked writing this, and I'm glad that there are still people reading it. This is going to be a pretty long author's note, since I'm acknowledging people. Okay... Thanks to moonlight goose, Anarchy Girl, Guest, Deity (Guest), and Nic (Guest) for reviewing. Also, big thanks to moonlight goose for favoriting this story. And thanks to EVERYONE who is still reading this. The epilogue's in third person. Enjoy! I hope you liked reading this story just as much as I enjoyed writing it. :)**

_Epilogue_

Most everyone in District Twelve knows that something has changed over the past few months. For one, Ripper, the woman who sold white liquor in the Hob, had to close up because she wasn't getting enough business. For another, the Victor's Village looks a little cheerier now. Less like a prison. The shades aren't pulled on one of the occupied houses anymore, lights on through the window. And the most significant change is that when the people see Haymitch Abernathy, he's not always alone.

In the Mellark house, Katniss Everdeen Mellark is rocking her baby daughter in her arms, singing softly. The tiny little girl wasn't named until her birth, but Katniss and Peeta chose a beautiful name. Rue Maysilee Mellark. The little girl is a little female version of Peeta, with wavy strands of thin blond hair and blue eyes. District Twelve was abuzz with the news for a while, that Katniss and Peeta had a new child. But right now, Gale and Prim are content with their little sister. Katniss and Peeta let them hold her, telling them to be careful with her.

Downstairs, Peeta is baking. There's already some bread on the table, as always, but right now he's baking cookies for the children, who have been begging him for a while. "Chocolate chip, Daddy! I want chocolate chip cookies!" says Prim, running into the kitchen. Peeta smiles at her and nods, dumping some chocolate chips into his mixing bowl, which already has a lot of dough. Prim dips a spoon in and eats some of the dough. Peeta smiles at his daughter as she runs away, running up the stairs. He stares out at the snow falling outside the window, glad that his house is warm and his family is safe.

The Mellarks are happy, and it's not hard to see.

Meanwhile, the house next door isn't so pitiful-looking anymore. No, now the Abernathy house is happy. And so are its two inhabitants. June Abernathy walks in the door, stomping on the doormat to shake the snow from her shoes. "Haymitch," she calls. "I'm home." Home. Yes, she can call it home. Because it was only weeks ago, but her and Haymitch celebrated their toasting. According to District Twelve tradition, they are married now.

Haymitch comes into the kitchen. "Hey, sweetheart," he says with a smile, kissing his wife. Their eyes meet for a second, and they both smile.

It's not hard to see how Haymitch has changed. Unless people have known him before, they have no idea that he almost drank himself to death for years. He's more well-groomed, and he's regained some of his old sarcasm. Everyone who used to know him knows that something has changed. Now, he isn't depressed. And everyone notices that he always seems to be smiling when he's with his wife.

The house is different, too, aside from the fact that there's another person living in it. The shattered mirror in the bathroom has been replaced by a new one, shiny and perfectly reflective. There is a vase of primroses on the kitchen table. The rooms are inviting, a place to get out of the winter cold. The bed has clean sheets and is always tidily made.

But the biggest difference lies in the least expected place: the floor. Because the day after their toasting, Haymitch came home to find that someone -June- had swept up all of the broken glass.


End file.
